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tobiosmilktea · 4 years

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where orchids grow — kageyama tobio

2.1k words | genre/s: hanahaki!au, angst, hurt/comfort | warning/s: mentions of death, mentions of depression | pairing/s: kageyama x reader, platonic!tsukishima x reader

↪︎ in which an innocent little crush led to your downfall

a/n: i wrote this almost a year ago when i first started this blog. i thought the writing was really mediocre so it has been sitting in my drafts ever since,, BUT it’s finally getting to see the light of day cause i’m cleaning out my drafts :)✨ pls be easy on this one ewbd

it haunted you in your dreams, squeezing and grasping and clutching at your lungs until your final breath gave way–until they shriveled up into nothing as flower-torn chest had killed you. well... not yet at least.

no matter the amount of effort you had put into suppressing your feelings for the setter until it was nothing but a withered memoir, you couldn’t help but lay upon your bed, restless, as you recalled the flashing images of bloodied flowers that had been freshly thrown up from your lungs earlier this evening. you liked to think you’ve learned to control your emotions and feelings around kageyama well enough that the aching feeling of growing flora in your chest wouldn’t effect you that much, but of course the feeling was still evident. however, it was earlier this evening when the setter split half of his meat bun for you after a practice game and the sheer look of care and admiration in his eyes forced a rose to travel up your esophagus.

it was so horrifyingly beautiful, a disease growing flowers within its host, wrapping until it plants itself to the point of rupturing the owner’s heart and lungs due to unrequited love. you hated it—despised for that matter as the memories of your past self screeching in pain and heaving to breathe. your face turned alabaster.

your heart thudded against your rib cage as the feeling of suffocation of chrysanthemums, daises, roses, tulips, cherry blossoms, and dandelions echoed within you. your hand rested upon your chest. the feeling of such ghosted atop your rib cage where you could faintly feel the growing stems of flowers and weeds.

there was an evident aching within your heart that wasn’t from hanahaki, rather from the thought of how brutal it was caused an immense pain to compete with the actual disease. the first incident of you throwing up bloodied flowers was the moment you got home one day. you were walking home with kageyama after hinata went ahead as he had his bike with him, leaving you two to your own demise (he had a little hunch about your feelings for the raven-haired boy, but he never bothered to confirm it). it was then you two reached the entrance to your house in which you two bid a farewell. you were so enthralled with how beautiful he looked with his dark blue eyes that shined thousands of stars.

it was game over for you.

you stumbled through your front door to which your mother worriedly asked if you were okay. you could barely mutter out a response as the roses and daises and chrysanthemums fought their way out of your system, throwing up your one-sided feelings in hues of thick crimson and hollow chests.

from then on, you had routine check ups at the hospital. in fact, you had an entire team of doctors taking care of you due to how rare the condition is. you see, hanahaki disease only occurs to those so massively in love with another, whose feelings can compete against the strongest love of all, that a simple little crush wouldn’t cause all this commotion. unfortunately, friendly love wasn’t enough to ease her homemade raptures.

they also said it was long term illness, well... long term taking into account how well you can endure the pain. occasionally there are those who can endure the pain their entire lives, yet there are the majority who simply die from the excruciating pain within a few months. the only true way to cure yourself from hanahaki was to either get kageyama to match your feelings or to get surgery to remove the constantly growing flora.

the thing is with surgery is that the moment you get it, your feelings for that person completely disintegrate. you can you no longer feel the same love as it is permanently gone. you can never regain those feelings ever again.

that was the fact that scared you the most.

despite knowing you can no longer take the pain and that you needed this surgery, there was a twinge of hope within your aching psyche that perhaps there was a chance. a chance that kageyama tobio would look at you for once that wasn’t just a friendly gaze. a look in which he would come to realize that he was in love with you. and because of this, you endured the pain a little longer.

the only downside was that no one else besides your family knew about your condition. not even your friends. and yet, with most secrets that are difficult to keep, eventually it will get out. tsukishima found out sooner than you’d had hoped.

you and tsukishima shared the same class and one day kageyama had visited your classroom during lunch, giving you his favorite milk from the vending machine as payback for helping out the volleyball club and with tutoring. it then when you felt your cheeks burning cherry red and the infamously familiar sting within your lungs. he then gave tsukishima a melon bun that he owed and the moment kageyama walked away, the blonde middle blocker immediately noticed the pain written across your face.

you pushed the carton of milk in his hands when you dashed down the hallways towards the restroom. fortunately, you were able to make it in time, locking yourself down in one of the stalls and profusely throwing up sticky and bloody flowers with hot streaming tears pricking at your eyes and threatening to spill. you immediately wiped them up. you couldn’t let anyone see you like this.

you flushed the toilet and watched the water turn red to clear when it went down the drain. you sighed, leaving the stall and looking upon yourself at the mirror. you looked absolutely terrible. from the dark circles under your eyes from nights filled with insomnia due to the aching pain, to your eyes still red from sobbing in the stall, and now to your hollow cheeks.

and because of the constant radiating pain, it became increasingly difficult for you to eat proper meals, leading for you to loose an unhealthy amount of weight. yachi was the first one to notice the sudden weight loss and the constant state of indifference. she knew there was something wrong, but she was too afraid to ask you. eventually, she asked if you were depressed one day and somehow you couldn’t bring yourself to say no.

afte leaving the restrooms, you were surprised to see taukishima waiting outside the doors and you were immediately trapped. the harsh glare staring down at you and his more than worried voice eventually led you to finally confessing what was wrong with you. and for the first time in your life, you’ve never seen the middle blocker so worried and caring. that his usually harsh demeanor and signature teasing remarks were softened because the thought of losing you scared him deeply. besides yamaguchi and yachi, you were the closest friend he had and he would hate to lose one his friends.

he would often ask you, “are you considering the surgery?” to which you wouldn’t know the answer to and that you were still waiting for the rare chance kageyama could’ve like you back.

it surprised you the sudden look of disappointment that etched across his bespectacled face.

during practice or during games where you suddenly get coughing attacks whenever you were around kageyama and talking to him, it was tsukishima who would immediately pull you away from the others and take care of you. he was the one to help you clean you after yourself and wipe your tears. eventually, the rest of the school believed you two were a couple.

however, there was the day were the pain was too insufferable. you had hanahaki for six months at this point where the disease would get into the most dangerous stages that one day you called tsukishima up one and finally made the decision.

“i’m tired of waiting, kei.” you muttered harshly as your voice was getting more and more hoarse each day. it was getting worse. you two sat nonchalantly on some random playground swings. the sun was setting and the blond was carefully gazing at your eyes that was soaked in honey. “i’m getting the surgery this weekend and I want you to come and take care of me.”

“of course.”

it felt like everything was going to be okay when he said that.

you woke up to hush chattering, as if a a big group was in the room trying to speak softly, yet failing to do so.

“guys she’s awake!” a voice exclaimed. It sounded like hinata.

suddenly a whole herd of volleyball players came surrounding your bed, their expressions had looks of smiley relief melted upon their faces as they didn’t hesitate to bombard you with questions. the poor nurses could barely get past the towering high school kids as the thought of you being okay was more than enough to fuel their adrenaline.

“i’m glad you’re okay now, (y/n).” sugawara beamed at you.

“yeah!” cut in tanaka loudly, “i can’t bare to lose my favorite first year all because of a stupid crush!”

your eyes suddenly widen. the rush of fear and worry filled you as you looked at tsukoshima who was standing at the end of your hospital bed.

“i had to tell them, they were threatening me.” he scoffs lightly.

“we don’t know who your crush was though, so you’re okay!” added nishinoya who patted your shoulder gently.

daichi then cleared his throat, capturing the team’s attention. “we should probably go and let to the nurses take care of her. we have practice too.”

the room was suddenly filled with loud ‘yes, captains!’ as they all piled out of the room, leaving only kageyama to stray behind slightly. tsukishima looked at the you two briefly before closing the door. this was something that you and tobio had to discuss.

there was a feeling of soreness atop your chest, possibly from the stitch that ran down your center of your torso that was in the process of healing. tbe tall setter approached your bedside, scratching the back of his neck. usually whenever you looked at kageyama an itchy feeling would arise in your throat and your chest would feel tight, and yet the moment you laid eyes on him, you felt nothing.

“tsukishima told me what happened,” he starts. the initial fear of confrontation diminished into nothing but acceptance. you couldn’t hide your previous feeling forever. “you should’ve told me.”

you sighed, “i was going to... but then i started getting the symptoms and i knew that there was no point in telling you when you didn’t feel the same way.”

“but if you told me, maybe there was a chance i would’ve helped you get better.” the setter tried to state, only making you want to roll your eyes and scoff.

shaking your head, you pulled your hand out of his. “that’s not how it works, kageyama. your fake feelings would only make it worse and i don’t want to be with someone who’s dating me out of pity.”

“but i don’t pity you, i—”

“it doesn’t matter, now.” you shook your head and cut him off, “you don’t have to worry because the surgery removed my feelings for you permanently. you don’t have to feel guilty about it anymore.”

kageyama gulps, nodding as straighten his posture. “but i almost killed you.”

“i’m here now, aren’t i? i’m okay.”

the setter still couldn’t help but feel his chest tighten and his gut wrench. “are we still friends despite all this?”

you nod. “of course, that’s not even a question.”

before their conversation could continue, one of the nurses knocked upon the door and opened it slightly. “sorry to interrupt, but all visitors must leave now. the visiting time is up.”

“oh, alright.” the volleyball player swiftly bows and waves goodbye to you before leaving the hospital room.

he cleared his throat the moment he stepped into the hallway, all uncomfortable and itchy. quickly catching up with the rest of his teammates that waited for him at the entrance, he quickly grabbed a water cup from the waiting room and gulped down its contents immediately—yet the feeling didn’t stop.

“kageyama, hurry we need to get to practice.” hinata calls out to him.

drinking one last cup of water in the desperation to heal his scratchy throat, he threw the disposable cup aside.

“i’m coming!” yet his voice was far too hoarse to be heard.

general taglist: @yongboxerrr @tanakaslastbraincell @kellesvt @kitsunetea

#kageyama #kageyama x reader #kageyama tobio #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu oneshot #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #kageyama angst #kageyama imagine #kageyama scenarios #kageyama oneshot

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zenosungs · 4 years

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laughable/lachrymose

Danganronpa V3 | Kokichi/Shuichi | Rated T

Toast is easy to make, right? Easy to make. You put the bread in the toaster and you wait and you spread honey on it when it’s done. Shuichi likes toast with honey. It’s easy. Kokichi needs easy. He can do this.

Ignoring the voices that have started screaming at him again he fumbles with the bag of bread, barely managing to fish a slice out, hands latching onto it in a seizing grasp so tight it almost crumbles in his hand. Flashes of hot and cold ravaging his body, he practically shoves it in the toaster, aching, hurting, shattering.

(OR: a fragmented road to recovery)

note:

drv3 spoilers!!

tw // suicidal thoughts tw // kokichi's death, miu's death, gonta's death (not directly stated but vague details) tw // unhealthy coping mechanisms

this entire thing is a bit heavy in general so please proceed with caution. it's not so shippy because my goal isn't to romanticize any of this, shuichi isn't a magical being who can heal kokichi with his words and touch, and he's also on the path of recovery as well

this was all written as a word vomit vent thing in one sitting so just lmk if you spot mistakes

i care about you, please reach out to someone when you need to

READ ON AO3!

He should be asleep.

Kokichi should, but then again, there are a lot of things he should be doing—healing, resting, blocking all memories out—though night terrors and bubbling trepidation and the inability to close his eyes without feeling the cold metal beneath him has proved to be a hindrance. He stays awake more often than he doesn’t, which is something entirely beyond his control; no matter the soothing words Shuichi mumbles in the dead of night, or the way he always keeps Kokichi close by in a loose yet comforting hold, he can’t sleep.

He doesn’t anymore. He’s stopped trying, anyway.

(It goes deeper beyond the label he hides behind as just insomnia. If insomnia can be defined as “persistent problems falling and/or staying asleep,” can it really be just insomnia if he’s the one who’s forcing himself to stay awake? If he only faces more sickening memories when his eyes are closed, what’s the point? Or maybe, just maybe, he’s lying to himself again, something like youdon’twantanyofthoseoptionsyouwanttodisappear—but as he always does, he lets the lie bleed into him until it is him. Until there’s nothing left to call a lie.)

He could be a zombie now, he’s sure of it. With the way he’s roaming around the apartment at—a glance at the clock—4 in the morning, and the way he certainly feels undead, calling himself a zombie doesn’t seem too far off. Shuichi’s grip on him, however loose it may have been, was getting too suffocating anyway.

He sits on the couch. Stares at a TV that’s playing nothing.

Deep breath in—

(...shut up, you asshole! the whizzing of an arrow through heavy air—kaito, can you hear me, please drink this antidote sorry, but i can’t die here… since i’m the mastermind of this killing game—redwhitehotsearingmetalcold—)

He scrambles to turn the TV on.

It’s so funny. The way they never stop fucking talking like a mixtape of voices ringing in his head even though everything is over and done with, oh god, he shouldn’t be dragging this out like he is, because none of it even happened. If none of it happened, why does he always feel the phantom pain of arrows digging into his flesh, or the descension of metal onto someone so petite—it all certainly felt so real, still feels so real—

—It’s not, and he knows that. He woke up from the simulation. Fought until there was no fight in him left. Until his lungs turned to ashes and pretty amethyst hair was yanked out of his scalp (by his doing, everything bad is always by his doing, so it seems) and so many eyes came to check in on him each day he spent recovering slowly in the hospital.

Is he supposed to feel relieved?

Happy? Glad that he’s awake from all of that? It’s alarming, really, that he feels nothing of the sort. What is he supposed to feel? Even if Saihara-chan had told him that any of his feelings were valid—anger, bitterness, resentment and horror—why does he still feel like nothing? Not numbness, but akin to it, certainly, because numbness is where you feel nothing, but simultaneously he feels like nothing. Like everything. Like death. Like life he doesn’t want breathed into him.

The TV drones on, white noise in the back of his head. He could make this work. That’s right. He’s adapted before. He can make himself feel okay again, or lie himself into thinking so, because that’s how it always ends, doesn’t it?

On shaky legs, he blocks out the voices; abhorrent Maki’s, strained Kaito’s, harsh Shuichi’s, tearful Gonta’s, desperate Miu’s, all of them cherry-picked from every single corner of his mind that he can’t ever find a way to escape anymore.

He stumbles, wandering without a purpose over to the bathroom, a trembling hand pushing open the door and flicking on the light. Headache-inducing fluorescent light flickers overhead, until it floods the capacity of the room, bearing enough light for him to be able to survey himself in the mirror.

He looks dead. Or, more so, like he could die. Right now, and maybe put an end to everything. An end to nothing. How does he fucking escape? How can he live like this? Or with this, the knowledge of everything he did in the killing game, his sacrifice, the hatred in everyone’s voices that he doubtlessly deserved?

Kokichi giggles, low and empty, as he turns the faucet on with a squeak and splashes cold water on his face. He could totally die right now. The way that brings more relief to him than anything else ever since the simulation is so laughable.

I could die. Right now. It’s as simple as using the sink or smashing my head against the bathtub. How hilarious.

Giving one final splash of frigid water onto a pale face, he turns the sink off, and allows himself a small moment of breathing. He’s been so bad at that lately, both him and Saihara. Everyone, really. No one is near being the textbook definition of okay, but they all didn’t expect to be either, although the one stark difference between them and him is that they’ve accepted that they’re going to recover slowly and reach okayness once again.

So why does he feel so stuck? Whenever he runs away from the echoing whirr of the hydraulic press it clutches him in its grasp again, and whenever he embraces it it makes him relive the entire scene over and over and over again in ways so sickening he feels like he just gets worse with each damn passing night—gasping for air even when he doesn’t sleep, awakening in cold sweat if he does manage to doze—maybe there’s nothing for him left here, fuck, why didn’t they just let him stay dead—

5, 4, 3, 2, 1. He could do the anxiety coping technique, or he could listen to music as a distraction, or he could go back to bed and pretend none of this is happening, or he could do the breathing method (in for four, hold for seven, out for eight), anything.

He could eat something. He could do that.

Shuichi’s been reprimanding him for his neglect of food anyway (even though the bluenette isn’t all that better at it) so in a way, this could serve as an apology for his inability to be a good person, boyfriend, living human being, all of that. For causing him so much trouble. For interfering with Shuichi’s own recovery process, even though it’s the last thing Kokichi wants to do. Unfortunately, the universe has a lovely addiction to just screwing him over.

Swallowing past a gag, because all of this thinking is so overwhelmingly nauseating, Kokichi stumbles out of the bathroom, not bothering to turn the light off. Everything is always so loud at night, everything is doused in so much more clarity, to the point where he can see them clearly. Miu’s face, terrified and contorted, even though it was just her avatar he still recalls so clearly the look of utter anguish on her actual corpse. Gonta’s baffled and horrified look when Kokichi wouldn’t stop yelling and yelling and yelling (“I’m sick of hearing you say you don’t know! God, why are you so dumb?”). They haunt him in ways unexplainable, although both of them had already made clear they’re on the path of forgiving him, but why does he need to be given undeserved forgiveness—

He finds himself in the kitchen, hands so shaky and cold he’s barely able to even turn on the light, panic emanating for no fucking reason, because he’s all messed up and gross and mutilated in ways that can’t be seen with the naked eye. He can’t cope. Everything fails when he tries. He laughs again, choked and nervous, opening the pantry and letting his eyes mindlessly glance over the food on the shelves; he reaches with invisibly scarred arms and takes out the glass jar of honey.

why are you like this it’s so easy to live why are you having so much trouble with it? is it because you can’t stop hearing iruma’s pleas or maki’s harsh words or kaito’s yells or saihara-chan’s confusion whenever you hung out and played games? is it because it would’ve been easier to stay dead, easier to be crushed and leave it at that, all cracked bones under unforgiving metal? or maybe it’s because—

Stop, fuck, just—

He’s crying—why is he crying?—by the time the toast pops out, golden and hot but he picks it up anyway, he’s been burned worse before, by words and by poison, so he holds it and puts it on a plate on the counter that they must have forgotten to put away.

With a strangled sob he clumsily takes the jar of honey again, tremulous fingers barely letting him even keep his hands on it, glass smooth and cold against calloused skin, worn and too ruined and bitten to be attached to someone as youthful as he is. He can do this, he has to do this, because he doesn’t feel like he’s getting anywhere near better but if he sticks to routine and does everyday things he should be doing easily—he could trick his mind into thinking so. It works, it always works, please work this time…

(Why is something as simple as this so goddamn hard, why is it all so hard, why was dying easier than all of this, why is existing so easy but settling down so difficult, why is waking up so simple but finding reasons to let it stay that way so unbearable, why, why why why—)

He bites his tongue and curses brokenly when the glass jar slips from his hands, falling to the floor without an ounce of grace, fracturing into uncountable glass shards at his feet.

Immediately he steps back, before sinking to his knees with a pathetic sob, the same sinful hands reaching out, hovering and unsure of what to do. Broom—yeah, the broom, he can sweep this up, he can fix it, he can fix all of this, he can fix himself, he can live, he can make himself feel okay, he can exist, he can do this, he can breathe, he can—

In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. His lungs quiver and shrivel up and cease to work whenever he tries sucking in air, body failing him, mind overrun as his vision blurs. If he could just get up and get a broom or something, he could get this all over and done with, or he could stop thinking of the worst possible ways to end this, end him.

Arms wrap around him gently before he can even try to stand up. Kokichi trembles, clawing at the hands of the person as he blubbers and cries and bows his head, unraveling again just as he always does, sick to his stomach and wondering why he’s subjected to this form of torture that he’s incapable of enduring for any longer.

The person gently turns him around in their arms, cups his cheek. The hand is cold. Shaking, too.

He wants to laugh again, but all that leaves him is another mangled cry, idly pressing his forehead against Shuichi’s chest, ringing in his ears so loud he can’t hear whatever the other boy is trying to tell him. Kokichi’s fingers dig into his back, into his soft sleeping shirt, moments away from tearing the fabric. He could throw up. He could die.

A kiss is pressed to the top of his head, and Shuichi is too nice for someone who had found his very pathetic boyfriend sobbing on the kitchen floor with forgotten toast on the counter and a shattered glass jar with honey pooling at his feet. This time, Kokichi does laugh, the noise interrupted by hiccuping sobs but near-hysterical at the exact same time, the sound oddly resembling the way he had laughed in the killing game, though lacking the malice it had at the time. Tired this time around.

He laughs until it gives way to screaming sobs, Shuichi trying his best to stop his own disturbed trembling, merely speaking softly and low into the shell of Kokichi’s ear, no doubt trying to reassure him. Or get him to cope (and fail). Or help him breathe.

why is this happening why am i like this why are you doing this to me, shuichi, it just hurts more whenever you try and i’m trying so hard to feel okay again and make things easier but it just gets harder every single day and—

—Kokichi giggles softly.

Shuichi shushes him gently, but Kokichi basks in the ridiculousness of this all. He switches between laughing and crying, screaming and chuckling, breaking down. Perhaps he’ll never get back from this. Shuichi had told him that all his emotions are valid, but how can he describe how he’s feeling into words? Crying is supposed to help. How amusing.

(Is he supposed to feel better? Relieved? He stifles a noise halfway between a sob and a chortle. It’s uproarious, he decides, that he feels anything but.)

#danganronpa #danganronpa v3 #drv3 #danganronpa fandom #danganronpa fic #danganronpa fanfic #saiouma #oumasai #danganronpa angst #trigger warning #triggering content #saihara shuichi #ouma kokichi #kokichi ouma #shuichi saihara

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thats-h0w-th3-light-g3ts-in · 4 years

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Law & Order: Criminal Intent ----> Amends AE

Alex realised her eyeliner had been smeared slightly under her eyes, as she took a glance into the mirror after she’d gotten home. She’d been on the verge of tears a couple of times today but she actually had thought she’d been able to hold them back. Obviously, this wasn’t the case. She’d wondered how long she’d been running around like this. She took a soft pad out of the space behind her bathroom mirror and cleared both her eyes from makeup residue. Her eyes were left red and swollen from the makeup remover that'd run into them. Her eyes burned like fire, and water gathered to extinguish it until it ran over her lower lid and traced down her cheeks. What good did this day do, Alex asked herself as she involuntarily recapitulated the past day in her head. She’d solved the murder of her husband, well Bobby did, but Alex neither felt joy nor relieve. She had already found someone guilty for her husbands murder years ago and although she knew an innocent man had been behind bars for eight years, and that wasn’t right, she just couldn’t get herself to feel at ease. Her husband, a great man and a good cop, was still dead. So was her best friends husband and nothing would ever change that. Then, could she even call her her best friend if they only saw each other twice in ten years for their husbands funerals. Seeing Theresa Quinn like that in the hospital three days ago, helplessly staring at her with empty eyes, put her right back there into that same position. Joe had been dead for eight years now, and she had made her peace with it, but she still couldn’t believe the unfairness of it all. A knock on the door startled her, tearing her out of her thoughts. She focused again on the puffy-eyed, tear-stained reflection staring back at her from the mirror. A woman with more lines on her face than eight years ago but with the same pain in her eyes. She threw an old cardigan over her strappy top, clutching her fingers around the oversized sleeves. At the second knock she got herself to move towards the front door of her apartment. She checked the peephole out of habit, but later realised she didn’t even look who was out front. She pulled the door open as if it was a reflex, only to identify Bobby’s figure standing lonesome in the mild night air. „Hey I … uh … brought dinner, I thought you might be hungry? Uh… Or want company?“ Bobby shyly held a brown takeout bag in his hands, moving a step away from Alex’ door. She forced a weak smile onto her face and stepped away from the doorway. Bobby followed her invitation and entered the apartment. “I hope … uh …Chinese is fine!“ Bobby asked awkwardly putting the takeout bag down on her living room table. “Of course, thank you.“ Alex replied, her voice horse and silent. She settled herself down on the couch leaving room for Bobby to settle next to her. He reached her a Chinese noodle box and two chop sticks then got some for himself before finally placing himself next to her. While he gulped down one piece of Noodles with vegetables and chicken after the other he stole glances over to Alex. More and more he found her stirring aimlessly in her food. His eyes kept lingering on her as he realised she didn’t notice. His look swayed over her make up-less face, revealing the heavy bags under her eyes. He imagined it came from day’s of insomnia and restlessness. He carefully observed the tiny veins making her eyes appear a light red. Her lashes were still clinging together from being wet. “So … Delgado has been released, he’s back home with his family ’is what they told me…“ Bobby tried to engage. Alex just sighed in response not averting her eyes off her food. “I’m sorry I stirred everything up again with digging back into Joe’s case.“ Bobby apologised, setting his food box down on the table “It had to be done … I guess.“ Alex muttered, still poking in her food rather than eating. After a while she put her dinner on the table as Bobby had done. “Why don’t I feel better, Bobby?“ She finally looked up meeting his eyes. Her lips had curled into a barely visible line and Bobby could sense her clench her teeth as not to burst into tears in front of him. “I know..“ Bobby began, but he soon realised he couldn’t find words to explain. “I’m glad Delgado had gotten out, he didn’t deserve jail … but does Mani? He’s a doctor now, he saves lives, what good is he behind bars?“ Alex voice broke as she tried to convey her feelings to her partner. “It’s justice. It’s just how it works…“ Bobby reasoned. “But is it? It doesn’t bring Joe back and it doesn’t bring Quinn back either…“ she wiped an escaping tear off her cheek with her sleeve. “All theses years I had someone to hate. I thought I’d known the circumstances in which my husband had died… in cold blood by a lowlife drug dealer. Now? A confused kid that had turned into a valuable asset to society is put behind bars for shooting someone who was only reaching for his shield.“ Alex wasn’t able to keep up with the wiping as the tears now streamed down her cheeks like small rivers. “He died grabbing his shield, Bobby. He wanted to protect the boy and he paid with his life how is that fair?“ She sobbed trying to make sense of it all. Bobby watched her crouched on the couch next to him hugging her legs shaking from head to toe. He’d never actually seen his partner like that, heartbroken and upset. Bobby wasn’t good at comforting people. He could reason with them, try to explain, try with words to ease their mind, but this second he found him self incapable. Not one sentence formed in his head that proved itself worthy to be spit out. Alex was right. There was no fairness here, no justice, there was nothing left to explain or reason with. He found himself unable to soothe her in a way he knew he could, but he also couldn’t just watch her suffer like she did. He’d played it over in his head several times before finally taking up the courage to reach over to her, putting his arms on her shoulder to show her he was there. Just three days ago Bobby himself had been crouched on the floor of his apartment, hugging his legs much like Alex did now. He’d been on leave for almost two weeks, alone with his thoughts, alone with his struggles. The numb and apathetical feeling that had overtaken him had left him powerless and sad. It was only when Alex had called that he’d picked himself up from the floor and got going again. Working cases with Alex was the only real reason he could think of to get out of bed in the morning. She’d saved him so many times, now it ws his turn. He squeezed her shoulder slightly, as his long arm reached around her. Before he even knew it he felt her slip into his arms entirely, burying her face in his chest. His arms naturally wrapped themselves around her pulling her closer as if that’s what they’d been destined to do. He knew there was nothing he could say to make her feel better, but apparently sometimes words weren’t needed.

END Fade to Black Created by Dick Wolf But made 100 % better by me

#fanfic #law and order criminal intent #criminal intent #bobby goren #robert goren #vincent d'onofrio #Alexandra eames #Alex eames #Kathryn erbe #amends #AE #alternative ending #fiction #fan fiction #love #goreames

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consumedkings-archive · 4 years

Text

ancient names, pt. xvi

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt xvi: that colossal wreck

Masterlink Post

Word Count: ~6k idk man i barely go here

Rating: M/Mature; lots of blood and stuff but nothing steamy.

Warnings: blood and guts, mentions of self-harm, mentions of sexual assault, Kian is a creepy fucker and he needs to die so he gets his own warning, dog on man violence. Uhhhhh idk how shotguns work so I did my best, don't @ me. Elliot does go full feral in this and I'm not sorry.

Notes: I so hope y'all enjoy this chapter. I'm not gonna say too much about it here, but please know that every comment, like, kudos, whatever—even the tiniest bit of knowledge that y'all enjoyed it just makes me so incredibly happy. It was a bit of slog at some parts but I'm so excited to get it out for you. <3 Special shout-out to @starcrier who provides incredible input and support while I try and glean even a MODICUM of her talent; ilysm!!!

As well, @baeogorath has been such an absolute DARLING, allows me to send them memes at like 3am and scream at them about all of my feelings. And @lilwritingraven, who has been SO supportive and helpful and just all around the biggest sweetheart a gal could ask for, thank you BOTH sm. <3!

The first thing that she recognized was the desperate need to breathe.

The second was that she was wet, exceptionally wet, her lungs filling with water over and over again, like dying a thousand times without the actual reprieve of death. Two strong hands gripped the front of her shirt, pinning her under the dark surface. Elliot thought, I’ve been here before.

Those hands gripping her hauled her out of the dark, wheezing and coughing up water, and tossed her onto the riverbank like a dead fish. She might as well have been, for what it was worth; when she managed to open her eyes, the world blurred and melted around her the way water swept over a window in a carwash.

“So glad you are awake,” Kian said from in front of her. He stood in the water just past his knees, and as he made his way out and over to her, she blinked rapidly to try and clear her vision. Elliot sucked in the biggest lungful of air she could, and all of the water that had been sitting in her mouth and throat caught and ripped, forcing her to lean and choke it up. “You were sleeping for quite a while, you know, Elliot. Had to make sure you slept all of it off.”

Her name coming out of his mouth felt like a violation—sticky, wet, ruined, a thing she had not allowed him to use, and yet he did anyway. She hadn’t given him permission to know her, and it felt different still than when Ase had used her name; like a weapon being wielded against her.

They gave me so much, she thought desperately a while her body thrummed with pain, searing hot through every nerve-ending as if they’d all been rubbed raw and exposed. They gave me so much of that shit, so much more than Ase ever did. How long was I sleeping it off? Fuck fuck fuck.

Kian’s fingers gripped her throat, slotted just under her jaw, and he pulled ; hauled her straight up with brute strength until her bare feet— when had they taken her shoes?—scrambled against the slippery river bank.

“Her dress fits you well,” he continued admiringly as he held her there. His words dragged her attention back to herself; she wasn’t in her own clothes, in fact, but in a long, dark cotton dress, high-necked and slim fitting. It looked like the same dress that she had first seen Ase in. “In fact, if your hair was just a little darker, and your eyes not so fucking blue, I would think you two could be sisters.”

Dead, the wind whispered. Humidity crept under the fabric, stifling and tenacious. Dead woman in a dead woman’s clothes.

“W-Where—?” Elliot managed out hoarsely. Her own heartbeat, so loud that she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to hear Kian, thrummed violently in her ears as panic started to really settle into her skeleton. “Where—John, and Boomer—what the f-fuck did you—”

“Now that you’re awake,” Kian continued conversationally, as though she had not spoken at all, “we can start.”

His grip loosened and then released. She barely managed to keep herself upright. The world lurched dangerously beneath her feet, and for a second, she thought she was going to have to throw up; the sensation subsided, and she swept her gaze in a single circle around her.

No John; no Boomer. Only darkly-clothed, silent figures, watching. Each face—some as old as a grandparent, some as young as what she thought could only be ten, and many of them somewhere in between—regarded her with the same kind of glassy-eyed curiosity that came with a circus attraction.

“What the fuck,” Elliot said, her voice hoarse and cracking in distress. “What the fuck did you—where are they—?”

“I’m only going to give you one tip,” Kian said. “Stop trying so hard to talk. You’ll burn through all of your adrenaline, mor.”

He had passed her up the riverbank. The intent of it all was very clear: he anticipated that she would follow, because he had something that she wanted and she was in no state to claw her way through all of them even if she wanted to. The knowledge of this—the understanding that Kian knew exactly what hand he had, and was going to play it—filled her with another sickening wash of dread.

The redhead stopped at the top of the bank and looked at her over his shoulder. “Are you coming?”

Shivering, Elliot wadded the hem of the dark dress up in one hand and struggled to the bank. Kian let her. He let her catch herself, dirtying her hands and the dress, practically clawing her way up as her heart rate fluctuated earnestly and without pattern in her chest, and when she made it to where he stood she could see the treeline ahead of them. Dark, drenched in nightfall, the pines murmuring every time the night’s chilly breeze rustled the branches.

“They’ll—” Talking caused pain to splinter through her jaw, radiating in spiderwebs up behind her eyes. “His b-brothers will—”

Kian waved a hand. His voice was light when he said, “They are busy.”

Fuck. Despair welled in her chest. Elliot swallowed thickly and said, “What are... What are we...”

He stared at her. She had the distinct sensation of being an ant, trapped under the searing beam of his magnifying glass, raising burns all across her skin. Then, he reached down to the ground, and from a bag, he procured a handful of papers; when he pulled them out, the familiar scent of her home wafted from them.

“You have lovely handwriting.” He scanned the page. “I hope you’ll forgive my snooping through your home. I couldn’t resist. Let’s see here: sounds like our little bunny was struggling with insomnia, feeling alone. Angry with your therapist for saying you were displaying—” Kian lifted a finger to indicate the importance of the word. “— significant signs of post-traumatic stress disorder, including—”

“S—” I want to die I want to die. The pages of her ripped journal sat in his hands, even greater a violation than the sound of his name. “Stop—”

“—intrusive memories, loss of time, irritability and aggressive behavior, self-harm. Is that where those scars are from? Hm, and… 'Sometimes, I wonder what it would have been like if I didn’t let this happen to me'. Is that guilt ?” Kian clicked his tongue. “Do you feel guilty, Elliot? For what that man did to you, those years ago?” And then he paused, glanced back at the paper, and said, “Forgive me. It was one year ago. Not that far gone, I suppose.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but no sound came out; something gripped her lungs, restricted their movement, until she thought she was going to pass out.

He had been in her home. He had touched her things. He’d stood among the things that were meant to be hers, rifled through them, found her journal and ripped the pages out. She’d taken up journaling about what had happened—not to torture herself with the reality of her situation, but in an effort to understand who she had become, to feel less like a stranger in her own body.

And now he held it in his hands, and there it was: everything that she was, just that small, just that insignificant. The entirety of what she was clutched in the hands of a psychopath.

“I hope she’s fucking suffering.” Elliot ground the words out, and Kian quirked a brow at her inquisitively. She plunged onward, reckless and vicious from her pain, “I hope Ase’s fucking rotting in hell, suffering, and I’m glad they blew her fucking brains in.”

Something dark flickered across Kian’s expression. It may have been a trick of the light; the clouds passed over the moon, blinking the world into darkness for a few minutes before the nighttime wind pushed them forward again. Elliot couldn’t tell if it was real, what she’d seen on his face, but she hoped it was.

But he didn’t say anything about her venom. Instead, he said, “Ase and I used to play a game together.” His tone was light, casual; he dropped the papers back into the bag dismissively, as if they were nothing. “I would give her a three-minute head start. She would run into the woods, and I would try to catch her. She was the perfect prize.”

A strange kind of affection welled in his voice. It was love, Elliot thought with a sickening kind of realization, in his voice—and it only made her more grateful that John had busted through her spine with a shotgun shell, the knowledge that maybe Kian was suffering even a tiny bit as much as she was.

Kian continued, “Now, because of you, she is not here to play the game; you will have to be my prize, Elliot.”

She was going to be sick. She wished that he would have just killed her, rather than this—this waking nightmare, this actual fucking living hell he was going to put her through. Elliot sucked in an unsteady breath, and when Kian gestured at the treeline, she turned her gaze there. It was easier to look at the sturdy line of pines than at his wretched face.

Hot breath fanned across her ear. Kian’s hand came up to the back of her neck, holding, gripping, the way a father would when he prepped his son for a baseball game. She heard the words like a sick comedy in her head: Come on, champ! You’ve got it! But his mouth was right on her ear and he said, “I hid your man out there for you.”

John.

“He’s—not,” she managed out. “Mine.”

Kian huffed out a laugh against her temple. “Then it should be easy for you to hide from me and not worry about finding him.”

Bluff called. Fucking cultist.

He stepped away from her, heading to the half-moon curve of cultists waiting idly by. Silently, Elliot tried to count them; she wanted to know how many she could kill, and how fast, if she got a gun in her hands, but the splitting headache blurring her vision uneasily made it difficult to keep track.

One of them put a shotgun in Kian’s hand. He checked the ammunition idly.

“Start running, Elliot,” he called without looking at her. “Your time starts now.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“What took you so long?”

John thought he had to be dreaming. He was certain of it, somewhere in his brain, because Elliot’s voice hummed warmly against the skin of his neck and she pressed up against him like a feline eager for his attention, and that wasn’t her. Was it?

“You’ve been sleeping so long,” she murmured into him, all sleep-warmed skin and soft lines. “Aren’t you going to wake up?”

Yes, he thought, because he wanted to open his eyes, because he wanted to see her like this. He’d worked hard for it. He deserved it, didn’t he? Yes, I’m going to wake up.

“John.” Elliot purred his name, sweet and decadent. She was so warm. “Wake up.”

“Okay,” John said, because he knew that he was ready. But the world stayed dark. He tried again: “Okay, I will.”

Her lips brushed against his pulse. He felt her fingers traced the Sloth scar on his sternum, meticulous, memorizing, slender and warm and affectionate.

“Don’t you trust me?”

“I trust you,” he managed out, “I trust you.”

Like lifting the floodgates, he pushed his eyes open. And it was a push; the effort it took to open his eyes was astronomical, like someone had suddenly stuck him under slow-moving lava that swallowed him up, ate away at the oxygen around him and weighed down his lungs in their attempt to let him breathe.

There was no Elliot. Only the slow, dark pulsing of pine boughs overhead. For just one split second, John felt relief; he was fine. Somewhere, but fine.

And then a piece of the sky lifted and peeled, drifting away. The trees bent and warped around him. He tried to struggle to sit up, fighting the urge to coil up into a tiny ball.

He said, miserably, “What the fuck,” and something at his hip buzzed static. The sound sent jolts of white-hot panic searing through his body.

“Hello?” It was a radio. A thick, dark voice came through. John didn’t pick up. He thought it sounded like Kian.

“Fucker,” he managed out, hauling himself to his feet as the world see-sawed beneath him.

“John Seed.” The voice came again. “I know you can hear me. You should be waking up any minute now.”

John wished he was still asleep. The dream had been better than this. At least in that, Elliot was—

Elliot. The last thing he remembered was her frantic hands trying to undo his seatbelt, and then her warmth getting ripped away from him, and then someone's hands on his shirt and—

“Fuck.” Bad news. Bad. “Fuck fuck fuck. ”

Steadying himself on a boulder, he came around into the clearing, trying to see through the trees. It was no good; the world pulsed and bled around him, smearing like an oil painting, and he realized with a sense of dread pitting in his stomach that they’d drugged him. Hard. The same way they’d drugged Elliot when she’d been crying into the ground like she was going to fly off.

That he knew what was going on did little to abate the irrational panic flashing through him, electrical pulses pounding through his body every chance they got. It made everything too much —the sound of the wind, the murmuring of voices that he thought maybe weren’t there, the feeling of the night on his skin. Yes, he felt it, like a garment of clothing, sitting just on him; he couldn’t tell where he ended and the rest of it began.

“I let your beast loose,” Kian’s voice crackled, seething with delight. “Gave her a head start, too.”

His fingers itched to grab the radio that had been clipped on his belt. He thought, I shouldn’t let him know I’m awake —

“Hey, fucker,” he snapped, his finger pushing down on the walkie button. His words kept slurring on their way out of his mouth, but he plunged onward anyway. “Come out here, huh? Love to chat face to face.”

Well, he’d never been that good at impulse control, anyway.

“On my way already,” Kian murmured silkily. “See you soon, friend.”

And then it went dead.

John spent what felt like an eternity staring at the face of the walkie talkie before he thought, Hey, that’s my fucking radio. And then: fuck, I can’t fight him right now.

He blinked furiously, trying to refocus his vision as bright colors started to bloom and bleed out from the ground. John kept telling himself that it wasn’t real, that there was no way it was real—and then he understood Elliot’s very real fear that night he’d tried to pull her down the hill. What had she seen then, he wondered? What had she been looking at?

“John?”

He hesitated, because the last time he’d heard Elliot’s voice it had been a dream. John’s base instinct was to stand very still, exceptionally still, which didn’t feel very still at all because he was drugged up through his fucking eyeballs and he wanted to puke.

“John—”

When she broke into the clearing, Elliot’s voice was frantic. Her hair had been let loose around her face and she was wearing a dress and bolting barefoot through the woods. Oh, John thought, a little panicked, oh, I’m dreaming again.

“Fuck,” Elliot said, her voice breaking. Her hands fluttered aimlessly, like she couldn’t figure out a place for them to land. “You don’t have Boomer?”

Maybe not dreaming, after all.

“Sleeping,” John replied, intelligently. “I was—”

Elliot stared at him as she drew closer, her eyes razor-sharp and clear and quick. The sliced right down to the core of him, but what was new, anyway? Stupid deputy, his brain chanted, sluggishly. Stupid, pretty, dumb deputy.

“... drug you?”

John blinked owlishly at her. He wasn’t in very much pain, which was good, but it probably was all going to hit him when the drug wore off and it was harder and harder to keep his attention focused; it was getting to the point where it was like being very drunk , where keeping his eyes open was becoming more and more of a chore.

Elliot snapped her fingers in front of his face. “John, focus.”

“Whose dress?” he managed out, gesturing at her.

Her eyes flickered uneasily. “Dunno.” She brought her fingers to her lips and whistled, high and fast, and John groaned; the sound rattled around in his head, echoing over and over again, splintering behind his eyes.

“Why?” he hissed. “Why are you—”

“Shut up, you fucking baby.”

Yeah, definitely not a dream.

They stood there in quiet for a moment, waiting; in the distance, John could hear a faint barking.

“He’s out there,” Elliot said, relieved. “They probably have him tied up, if they were able to get their hands on him. John—”

The blonde stopped suddenly, and he turned his gaze back to her inquisitively. She looked very much like she wanted to say something; her lashes flickered uneasily and she swallowed thickly.

“You have to get him, John,” she said finally, which didn’t sound like the thing she wanted to say.

“I’ve got a radio,” he supplied helpfully; on instinct, he reached for her, and she didn’t flinch back when his hand found the juncture between her neck and shoulder. Warm, he thought pleasantly, hazily, the breath spilling out of his lungs like a waterfall. “It’s the one from the ranch. We can—radio Joseph and the others.”

“John, I need you to listen to me,” Elliot began, reaching up to put her hand over his. Her skin was warm, but she shivered—John realized very suddenly that she was soaking wet. “I need you to get Boomer. He’s over there somewhere, close enough to hear a whistle. You can whistle, right? Or just—say his name, he’ll respond to that too.”

“‘M drugged,” he replied. “No good. Besides, he doesn’t like me.” The last half came out petulant. He thought very little of Kian’s voice crackling through the radio, or that he’d said he’d be there soon, or that someone had drugged him and left him in the middle of the forest. All he could think about was the problem being presented to him: Elliot was asking him for something, and he couldn’t give it to her.

“You have to,” she reiterated firmly. “You told me you’d do anything I asked.”

“I did,” John insisted. “Don’t you remember? I f—”

“Shh!”

Elliot grabbed his hand and yanked, hard, hauling him into some thicker brush. The whole gesture of it had his vision spinning like a slot machine.

“John, you have to go,” she whispered furiously. The sound of heavy, leisurely footsteps thudded somewhere a little ways away. “Please. You said. ”

“We can both go,” he whispered back. And then, because she hadn’t recognized his good fortune earlier: “I have a radio.”

“I can’t,” she replied. Her voice broke a little, slipping past a furious hiss and cracking on an emotion that John didn’t want to know. “I can’t go.”

“Why?”

“I have to—” Elliot paused, her gaze flickering tiredly. “John, I have to take a break, I’ve—I’m so tired.”

He paused. “I’ll wait, too.”

“You need to go.”

“I don’t want to. I’ll stay, too, and we’ll go together—”

“No,” she insisted. “Fucking— God you are so annoying—”

John heard, very faintly, the low and threatening click-click of someone pumping a shotgun. He paused, and Elliot did too, and then she pulled him forward by his shirt and kissed him hard. She tasted a little like river water, but mostly like her, and the warmth of her mouth against his made heat bloom all over him like he was green and Spring, again.

“John,” she whispered against his mouth, nearly inaudible, “please. Get Boomer, radio your brothers. We’ll catch up on the other side. I—”

Another couple of footsteps echoed in the stillness of the night. All of the birds and wildlife had fled; they knew there was a big, bad predator out in the evening, and John felt that knowledge twisting something violent and wretched inside of him.

“Do not fucking die,” he hissed at her. “You’ve stayed stubbornly alive for this long. Do not.”

She nodded faintly. “Yes, boss.”

He went to move, but she stopped him, lifting a finger to her mouth; each beat of his heart rumbled violently in his ears, and he thought he might pass out if he didn’t get moving fucking soon; each second spent crouching still and silent in the brush was swaying him viciously back and forth, trying to get him to face plant into the ground.

Elliot, back against the tree, let go of his shirt. She mouthed, Go, and then darted out, quick and fast and taking with her all of the vibrant sound and warmth in the world.

John's legs lifted him to a standing position. It felt like operating heavy machinery; every movement ground through his skeleton laboriously. But he was going; gripping the radio, trying his hardest to sprint, when he heard the sound of a shotgun shell pelting the earth in one sharp, gritty blow.

And then a familiar voice: “Where are you, little rabbit?”

Please.

Everything in him was telling him to turn around. Screaming at him—but he knew that was exactly what Kian wanted, too. To have them both there, in the same place, to make one of them watch the other die.

So, he didn’t.

He kept going, and when he got far enough away to be convinced that Kian was preoccupied with Elliot, he stopped and looked around. The night was eerily still and pulsed dimly around him. He glanced down at his feet; the grass reached up and around his shoes, coiling around him, trying to hold him down.

“Fuck,” he hissed, hurriedly stepping forward. “Find dog. Radio Joseph. Boomer?”

He kept his voice low as he crept through the woods, fiddling clumsily with the radio as he moved. When he found a channel whose numbers looked vaguely familiar—and familiar was a stretch, considering that accessing just about anything in his brain was like feeling someone’s face in the dark and guessing who it was—he pressed down on the talk button.

“Joseph? Jacob? Somebody?” He let off the talk button. “Boomer?”

No barking. Was Elliot drugged too? Had they been hallucinating the dog barking?

John had just begun to give up on the idea of doing anything other than wander aimlessly in the dark woods when he made it to the edge of the treeline and saw the dog. Unfortunately, the beast was tied up to a wooden stake, growling low and threatening the two men as they walked idly around him and to the van, busying themselves; soft music played from the car. They seemed to be waiting patiently for Kian to finish whatever it was he was doing. Killing Elliot?

Fuck, he thought hastily. Gotta hurry.

He watched as one of the men set his gun down on the bed of the open van, stretching and chatting conversationally with his companion. When he wandered back over to Boomer and said, “Here, doggy,” the Heeler lunged viciously and set off barking, teeth snapping. He sighed.

“Stupid dog.”

They turned back toward the road, and John made his way closer to Boomer. If he could get that lead unclipped—if he could do it without them noticing…

“Fucking shithole,” one of the men said, backs turned to him as they lit a cigarette that got passed between them. “Can’t wait to purge this place and get out.”

“Yeah.”

“Hey, do you know…”

As their conversation drifted, so did John’s attention. He slipped out from the cover of the underbrush; instantly, Boomer’s eyes were on him. His hackles went up, and John lifted his hands, keeping them open.

In hindsight, he’d probably feel stupid thinking about this moment. The dog wasn’t holding him hostage. But it felt a little like he was, anyway.

“Hey,” he whispered, creeping closer. “Gonna let you off, beastie.”

Boomer eyed him, eyes flattened back against his head.

“You wanna get ‘em?” he continued, glancing over at the men as he reached for Boomer’s makeshift collar, clipped onto the lead. He didn’t know what kinds of gestures or phrases Elliot used to get the dog to do what she wanted. He only knew that Boomer did , sometimes without her saying, and so he said again, more urgently, “You wanna get ‘em, beast?”

The urgency of his tone seemed to spark something in Boomer. His ears pricked forward. John’s fingers found the lead clipped around his collar, pulled on the little metal clasp, and let it drop to the ground.

Boomer watched him, expectantly.

“Well, go on,” he whispered, gesturing. That seemed to be all that was needed; the cattle dog darted forward, teeth sinking into one man’s leg and yanking hard enough to unbalance him and pull him to the ground; the dog's head thrashed violently, ripping out of him guttural snarls.

John blinked, and thought, holy shit, is this what he’s been like this whole time?

There wasn’t a lot of time to spend thinking about it, because the other man was whirling angrily, shouting something, and then his eyes landed on John.

They both looked at the gun sitting on the tailgate of the van at the same time.

“Fuck,” John hissed, lunging forward and grabbing wildly; he wasn’t entirely sure that he even stayed upright, the strange back-and-forth pull in his head having only abated a little, but he reached for the gun and snatched his hand back, fumbling with the safety.

The whole thing felt like an eternity —comedically so. While the sounds of Boomer mauling the unarmed cultist echoed in his ears, John’s fingers clumsily switched the safety off and he fired recklessly; the bullet barely grazed the cultist’s calf, and as the man reached for him, John pulled the trigger again. Once, twice, three times, the bullets planted themselves in the man’s chest, jerking him back with each impact.

A heavy thud echoed in the night as the man slumped to the ground. Boomer had handily dispatched of the other one; his mouth was red and wet, and when John struggled to his feet, he saw that the man’s throat had been ripped open.

“Nice,” he breathed. Boomer regarded him warily, unimpressed with the compliment. He quickly shuffled the safety back on and tucked the gun into the back of his jeans, pushing the tailgate of the van up. When the dog whined, low and uncertain, he glanced back at him and sighed.

He pulled the tailgate back down. “Load up. We’re gonna get her back.”

Boomer leapt up into the back of the van, nails sliding on the hard plastic. It took John about five minutes of rifling through the pockets of the two men to find the car keys. While he wasn’t entirely confident in his ability to drive, he had just planted a couple of bullets in a man, so he supposed he'd be fine.

As he climbed into the driver’s side, he shut the door and settled in and carefully, meticulously slid the key into the ignition. The van purred to life as though John’s last week hadn’t been an entire fucking series of absolute fuckhead jokes, and he let out a breath.

The glint of something blue and reflective in the cupholder between the two front seats caught his eye. He glanced down, blinking.

“Hey,” he said, reaching down. “My sunglasses.” Tucking them into his shirt, he checked the rearview mirror and gently, gently pushed the car into drive.

"Alright, beastie," John muttered. "Let's get this ended, huh?"

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The concussive blast of bullet meeting wood rang in her ears; chips of bark and the guts of the tree showered her, the shot echoing just above her head, and she thought, fuck, I just want to be dead already. She was so tired; moving was a luxury that was not afforded to her anymore, each gesture as she struggled to her feet tipped and fettered by the bruises and wounds that littered her body.

Finding John had taken about fifteen minutes, fourteen minutes and fifty-nine seconds of which had been spent agonizing about where to look first. She didn’t recognize where they were, or know her way around, and she was barefoot and soaking wet and shivering and she just kept thinking about how badly she wanted to lay down.

We’ll go together. Fuck, John was so stupid. She might have actually had a moment to breathe if he’d just listened to her and did as she said. But that wasn’t ever how these things went, was it?

A calloused hand closed around her wrist and yanked her to her feet. For a second, in the blurring, thrumming night, between the whispering voices in the wind and the lurching of the great beast hunting her down, Elliot saw the dark fabric of a button-up shirt and thought, it’s John, it’s John; he came back me and now we’re going to get out.

“I win,” Kian purred.

His voice bled through her skull, stretching and warping as the agony crashed over her in a scalding wave. Kian’s fingers wound iron-like around her wrist, holding her there, and his other hand came up to grip her chin; playfully, he shook her head back and forth, like he was trying to jostle her out of deep sleep.

“Don’t look so sad. I’m not going to kill you, Elliot.” He regarded her with something like amusement, eyes glittering dark and obsidian in what little moonlight had managed to seep through the tree cover. “Do you know what mor means? It means mother. We’re going to keep you for It, and when it’s time, we’ll slice you open. You will make It so happy.”

She gripped his wrist as hard as she could and tried to push his hand from her face. Kian had discarded the shotgun in favor of having both hands to grab her, and as he gripped her face—the wide, calloused crux of his hand covering her mouth while his fingers reached the dip of her jaw—she thought, Something has to be done.

Elliot had promised Joey. Even if I have to fucking die for it. She had promised, and that meant it had to be done.

Muddling through the panic, Elliot squirmed under his hand, opened her mouth, and bit down as hard as she could. The disgusting taste of hot copper flooded her mouth instantly; the webbing between his thumb and pointer finger wasn’t meant to take teeth ripping and tearing, and she was ripping and tearing; even with the limited mobility she had, she wrenched her head anyway she could, intent on taking some piece of Kian with her.

A wretched kind of sound came out of him. He tried to yank his hand back off of her face, and she bit down harder, anywhere her teeth could catch and grip. If she could hit bone, she thought; if she could sink her teeth right into the marrow of him, maybe then she would have felt like she got some repayment for what he’d done.

Kian yanked his hand free, gripping his wrist as crimson streamed down his palm and arm. His eyes were wild and dark; for a split second they stood there, staring at each other, two beasts nursing wounds and waiting for the other to make a move.

Elliot grabbed the front of his shirt and hauled him forward, slamming her face into his. It would have been nearly impossible to bodily force Kian’s to move had he not been clutching his wounded hand, and for that she was grateful—grateful, she would tell herself, around the ricocheting stars of pain blurring behind her eyes, using the hardest part of her skull to bash into Kian’s nose and mouth.

And then she ran.

The gun was around, somewhere, dusted in pine needles and nightfall; like a needle in a haystack. She heard someone spitting behind her, and she thought, I hope I broke your fucking nose, you piece of shit, just before she ducked into a thick bustle of brush and behind a rock.

Around her, the world blurred and fuzzed black. She tried to furiously blink it away, but every second spent standing still meant that her body was suddenly remembering how tired and overworked it was, how much she had done, how much she had suffered. We could stop now, the tired little girl inside of her said. We should. We should stop now.

But Kian had said it himself; he wasn’t planning on killing her. She wouldn’t get rest even if she gave up. He might have changed his mind after she’d bit through his hand and headbutted him, but—

That wasn’t a chance she could take. Not for herself, and not for Joey, and not for the girl she had been that night in her apartment, either.

Heavy footfalls echoed just a few feet away from her. Her mouth was still flooded with the taste of Kian’s blood. As she made her way to the other side of the boulder she’d taken refuge behind and peeked out, she thought, I’d do it again, given the chance. I’d rip him open with my teeth if I got the opportunity. Give me the fucking chance.

Moonlight spilled through the trees and into the clearing they had just been in as the wind pushed clouds out of the way. The glint of dark metal, threatening, caught her eye; the shotgun was there, with hopefully at least one shell in it—one that she could put straight through Kian’s ugly fucking face.

And he was nowhere to be seen, either. Even as she leaned further out, trying to see around the boulder, she couldn’t see him crashing through the underbrush; she couldn’t hear him, either. Just the sound of the wind, pine needles skittering across the ground, a twig snap and—

A second too late, Elliot’s pain-addled brain realized the breaking branch was just behind her. Fingers fisted into the hair at the back of her skull and dragged, hauling her out of the underbrush and back into the clearing, tossing her like a ragdoll. All of the already-battered ribs shrieked on impact, and she wheezed out a breath that had blood and spit flickering across the forest floor.

Tired. She was so tired. So tired, and the world blurred and tried to fizz and pop out of existence around her, a sticky-wet hand forced her eyes forward.

Blood streamed down Kian’s face from their earlier collision. When he grinned at her, his teeth were stained pink, red seeping in the gaps.

“Hello, little rabbit,” he ground out, pushing away her scrambling hands and pinning the left down. “You put up quite a fight.”

Elliot tried to search in her spatial memory—what was left standing of it, anyway—for where she had seen the gun. But it was getting harder to breathe, and to think, and Kian’s fingers dug into her jaw and cheeks. An awful, animalistic noise came out of her at the pressure—it was a whimper, but unlike anything she’d ever heard out of herself, unlike anything she’d known she was capable of making.

“I wonder—”

His voice came out in a low murmur, spit-slicked and venomous, his nose grazing the slope of her cheekbone.

“—will you feel guilty about this, too? When I drag you back kicking and screaming, and make you watch as I cut each of those fucking hillbillies open? I know some of them got out. I'll find them, too.”

It had to be close, she reasoned through the haze in her brain; the gun had to be nearby. She’d just been looking at it. Her body was trying to give up; Kian’s fingers pinning her wrist down and bruising her neck, his words hissed out against her skin, were all tripping that strange little trigger in her brain that finally wanted to give up fighting and do something else.

Quit.

“ Mor,” Kian purred against her skin. “Mother, you’ll be so good for It, I know you will.”

Joey, clutching her tight. “I never doubted you’d be able to get me out.”

“It likes it best like this, you know.”

John, mouth so close to her ear. “I said, it’s a good thing you’re more devil than woman.”

Each second that ticked by, filled with Kian’s voice, the fingers of her one free hand inched. S he felt them close around cool metal.

“It likes the ones that fight back.”

She gripped the gun hard, and swung.

It collided with a heavy-handed thump against the side of Kian’s face, and he jerked back. He still straddled her, but with room between them now, Elliot could lurch forward, bowling as much of her weight into his midsection as she could to push him off of her and send him reeling back into the hard surface of the boulder.

Her fingers worked fast as she struggled to her feet. Pure adrenaline, pure muscle memory, as she flicked the safety off, cocked the shotgun, and pulled the trigger.

It clicked.

Empty.

Kian barked out a laugh wet with blood. There was a wound on his temple that was bleeding, now, and as he struggled to sit up more she could see him wince—the collision with the boulder hadn’t done him any good. Elliot pulled the trigger again, and again, and each time it clicked she found herself getting angrier and angrier. Filling with poison, up to her brim, like someone had just uncorked it.

“It’s empty, mother,” Kian rumbled at her. “You think I brought any more ammo than those two shells?” He spat blood out of his mouth and cocked his head, regarding her with dark eyes. “I told you, I’m not going to kill you.”

I’m not, like he still thought he had won. Pure, vibrating fury radiated through her body. This was supposed to be her victory; this was supposed to be her revenge for Joey. For her life. For her.

It would be. It’s mine, she thought viciously, this fucking moment is mine.

“Yeah, well,” Elliot spit out, digging her fingers into the metal, “can't say the same.”

The weight of the gun was not unlike a bat; so when she took the barrel of the gun and swung it like one, it felt familiar. Just like when she was ten, playing rec-league softball, only this time the bat was an empty pump-action shotgun and the ball was Kian’s head.

When the dull impact send vibrations rattling up her arm, and Kian keeled to the side, wheezing and biting out something venomous in Swedish, Elliot gripped the shotgun harder and swung again.

And again.

Each collision brought it closer to the satisfying, wet crunch of blood and bone on the redhead’s face. Elliot couldn’t have counted how many times she swung if someone asked her—or pinpointed the exact moment that Kian stopped moving, stopped breathing.

She could only think about the way he’d planted his words right against her skin, gripped her, I win.

Do you know what I get to do with things that belong to me?

“Nothing,” she ground out, when her arms burned and ached and her vision fuzzed with exhaustion. “You don't get to do anything.”

“Deputy?”

Blood spray littered her face. She was sure that her teeth were stained red, too. Each breath heaved exhaustively through her body, rattling, and when she turned her head to the source of the voice, she saw John and Jacob standing at the edge of the clearing; lights blurred through the trees, the sound of trucks and voices echoing in the still night air.

Boomer darted out from behind them, immediately pressed to her legs. She held the shotgun loosely in her hand.

“El,” John said, softer than Jacob had, “It’s me.”

Her gaze flickered back to the brutalized corpse in front of her. She thought, faintly, that there was no way her life was going to be normal after this again, but that was okay. She’d promised Joey.

If I have to die for it, I will.

She’d done it. And maybe she had died for it.

Jacob had taken a few steps toward her as the thought echoed in her head. Slowly, like she was a stray dog snarling over a cow bone. When John moved to follow, she saw Jacob put his hand out and stop him.

“Put the gun down,” Jacob said, his voice still and calm. Elliot blinked tiredly.

She wanted to do it. She wanted to let go of it. But that girl that she had been—that girl who had cried under the blanket fort, who had thought, I don’t know how I let him do that to me, the girl who had sat on the floor of her bedroom in Hope County and blinked through furious tears as she struggled to understand herself—no longer wept; that girl was furious, and so Elliot gripped the gun tighter.

As though it made it any less of a weapon, she said, “It’s empty.”

Jacob looked at Kian’s face, bashed-in. Obliterated. “I know.”

Boomer whined at her feet, nosing her empty hand quietly and gazing up at her with big, brown eyes. Something strange washed over her, an emotion that made her lip tremble and her eyes burn. The Heeler nuzzled her hand again, and she sucked in a shaking breath as finally— finally, finally —the tears stung down her cheeks.

She dropped the shotgun. John said her name, and Jacob dropped his arm, and she realized that it was relief she was feeling now.

Only vaguely aware of Jacob kicking the shotgun away from her, the world blurred as Elliot felt John’s hands cradling her face. Each place where his fingers traced the bruises from Kian, that pulse of relief ran stronger through her body until it was overstimulating, overwhelming. When John kissed her, it was almost frantic—she could taste the blood in her own mouth, his fingers tangling into her hair as he kissed her again and again, until her lungs ached with the need to breathe. But each kiss brought her somewhere else. It took her somewhere that she didn't have to think about anything except John in that single moment.

“Hey,” John said, their noses brushing. His movements were sluggish and uncoordinated, his voice still slurring a little. “I have you. Right here with me, El, don’t go anywhere.”

“Yeah,” she managed out. Her voice wobbled, and she sucked in a sharp, stuttering breath. “John—”

His thumbs swept across her cheekbones, smearing more blood than they wiped away tears, and as the sound of voices echoed dimly around them, she lifted her hands and gripped his wrists. Through the coppery tang in the air, she could smell his cologne; her lashes fluttered and John pressed their foreheads together.

“It’s okay.” John murmured the words, tugging her against him, into his chest. “It’s all over now.”

No, she thought as his arms circled her, pulling her closer, Boomer barking at anyone who wandered near.

It’s not even close.

#ch: elliot honeysett #ch: john seed #fic: ancient names #john seed x female deputy #john seed x original female character #far cry 5 #far cry fic #uhhhhhhhhhhh #what can i say? i love a girl who knows how to use her teeth #boomer is a good boy #per usual

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quickspinner · 5 years

Text

Flash Forward

Inspired by Clairvoyance by @whatarubberchicken

Clairvoyance has always been one of my fav fanfics, and a bout of insomnia plus a 'what if Lukanette' thought later, this fic was born. Nothing is the same but the basic premise, but I hope I did the original justice.

If you prefer you can read it on AO3.

Luka opened his eyes, and stared at an unfamiliar white ceiling. He felt heavy and slow, as though he were waking from a deep sleep. But...he hadn’t been asleep, and this wasn’t his room. There was no steady motion, the ceiling was too high and too white. He moved slowly, looking around at a sunny, cheerful...apartment? His arm came down from where it had been over his head and he felt fabric under his hand; he was laying on a couch.

Luka shifted and sat up slowly. There was a hiss and a small weight tumbled off his chest. He put up his hand to catch it, but missed as he was distracted by the sight of his own arm. Specifically, at the snake tattoo winding up his forearm that he definitely didn’t have this morning.

“Luka,” a raspy voice complained. “A little warning next time.” A small green snake-like being floated into his vision. Luka’s eyes went huge and he started to hyperventilate.

“What the hell?” he whispered. “What—what are you? How do you know my name? Where am I? What the hell is going on?” Some instinct kept his voice low, though his pitch increased with his panic.

The floating snake being’s eyes narrowed, and he floated closer. “I am Ssssasssss, your kwami. Have you had a nightmare?.”

“Kwami? What’s—what is that? And what do you mean, you’re mine?”

Sass floated closer still, and Luka froze as the little kwami’s slit-pupils eyes filled his vision. He felt a light touch on his face. “You are out of your time,” the kwami said cryptically, backing away to a more comfortable distance. “What issss the last thing you remember?”

Luka frowned, thinking. “I took a walk down the Seine. I found a nice spot and I was playing my guitar. The music festival is in a couple of weeks and I was working on a song. Then there was—“ His eyes widened. “I was hit by an akuma.”

“Ah. Excussse me a moment. Wait here, I will return.” The...kwami? zipped away deeper in the apartment.

Luka sat there, confused and a little scared. For lack of anything else to do, he lifted his arm and looked at the tattoo again. It was actually pretty sick, a hooded cobra with a diamond pattern on its back, intertwined with flowers. He wondered if he had any others.

Luka looked up as Sass returned. Sass seemed to relax, folding his legs in midair and curling his tail around his body. Distantly Luka recognized the diamond pattern on the kwami’s tail as the same one on his arm. “There issss no need to fear.” Sass told him. “Your mind will return to your time when Ladybug cleansesss the akuma and sssendsss the cure. It should take no more than a few hours.”

“My time?” Luka asked, bewildered. “Where am I now?”

“Thisss isss your home,” Sass replied calmly. “But the better question isss when are you now. How old are you?”

“I just turned seventeen last week.”

“About ten yearsss in your future, then. We recently celebrated your twenty-seventh cycle. ” Sass’s tongue flicked out and Luka got the impression of amusement. “You mussst be very confused indeed. It isss best of you do not know too much. Jussst go with the flow and enjoy the moment. Play along for now.”

“Play along with what?” Luka asked, bewildered.

“Your life,” Sass chuckled. He flicked his tail toward the pictures on the wall. Luka got up and went over to look at them. The biggest in the middle immediately caught his eye.

“I’m—married?” he whispered. He raised his left hand and stared at the silver band on his ring finger. He looked back at the picture and felt an odd rush as he stared, not at himself, but the petite black-haired woman beside him, blue-eyed and smiling from ear to ear. “Wow,” he whispered breathlessly. “God, she’s beautiful—When do I meet her?”

“When the time issss right,” chuckled Sass. He looked off to one side. “Or perhaps now. Her name is Marinette.” He slipped out of sight.

“Luka?” a voice said softly behind him, and he turned and froze as he found himself faced with the real life version. She smiled at him, not so wide as in the wedding picture, but softer, warmer. Kind. His heartbeat picked up. “Oh good, you’re awake. I hope you had a good nap. We’ve both been so tired lately.”

“Marinette,” he whispered, remembering what Sass has told him, and her smile grew a little.

“Hey rock star.” She crossed the room to him and put her arms lightly around his waist. “Still waking up?”

Play along, Sass had told him. “I guess so,” he said roughly. “Or maybe I’m still asleep,” he added, taking in every detail of her face. His heartbeat quickened further. Her soul sang to him, vibrant and alive and intoxicating. Something in him knew her, even if his conscious mind didn’t.

“Charmer,” she smiled, “I guess I’ll just have to wake you up.” She leaned up and kissed him.

Oh God, if this was a dream he never wanted to wake up. Stunned as he was, his body clearly knew her, welcomed her, his arms coming up to hold her, his lips moving with hers like they knew exactly what to do. The rush of desire that coursed through him when she pressed her body up into his was both thrilling and confusing. Luka was kissing this woman ten years older than him that he just met, but he was married to her. On top of that, he shouldn’t have a seventeen year old’s hormones in this body but he sure as hell felt like he did.

Body switching time travel was weird.

She pulled away and for a moment he followed her before catching himself and straightening. The sight of Sass clearly laughing at him over Marinette’s shoulder helped sober him a little. Then Marinette reached up and lightly raked manicured nails across his scalp just above his neck and his eyes half closed in pleasure even as he registered that his hair was short where she touched him though he could feel hair falling on his forehead—did he have an undercut? He needed a mirror.

“We need to go get ready,” she told him. “Juleka will be here soon.”

“Sure,” Luka said dreamily, still focused on her fingers in his hair. God that felt good. He sighed when she drew her hand away.

“Come on,” she said, tugging his arm lightly. “Your suit’s laid out on the bed. And don’t you dare ‘lose’ the tie again.”

He made a face, and she laughed. “I know you hate them,” she teased, “But despite your high opinion of me I can’t change the fashion world overnight, so you’ll have to wear one at least for this party. You knew these galas were part of the deal when you married me, lover.”

Seventeen year old Luka would have blushed crimson at the nickname. Grown-up Luka only felt a faint heat in his face. “Yeah, I can’t see that stopping me from marrying you,” he managed, and she gave him a blinding smile that made his knees weak.

“Go,” she said, pushing him towards the hallway she’d come out of. He walked down it blindly, Sass floating alongside him.

“I sssee enjoying the moment will not be a problem,” the kwami chuckled.

“She’s amazing,” Luka breathed, clutching at the heart threatening to jump out of his chest. “I’ve never felt like that...Is this really my future?”

“At the moment, yesss,” Sass said cautiously. “Time isss fluid. You mussst ssstill work for it.”

“I will,” Luka said firmly, and then paused, looking at the doors in the hall.

“Left,” Sass instructed.

“Thanks.” Luka went through the door into the master bedroom. As Marinette had promised, a suit was laid out neatly on the bed, much nicer than anything he’d ever owned. He changed quickly, trying to keep his gaze from lingering on the bed. Shit, he was tall, he realized as he pulled on his long pants. He was in for a lot of smacking his head on doorways if he grew this way while he still lived on the boat.

Luka jumped when Marinette opened the door behind him, and immediately felt stupid. They were married, of course she wouldn’t knock. He was just glad he already had the suit pants on. To her they might be married, but to him, she was still a (really attractive, wow) stranger. Luka turned away quickly when she began to undress, chatting lightly about whatever this party was they were going to. Gala, she’d said; was she an artist or performer?

There were more pictures on the walls, and he looked at them as he buttoned his shirt, partly to keep his mind off the woman undressing behind him. These weren’t formal portraits, but candid photos of them with friends and family and each other. He found one where they were quite young, surrounded by some of Juleka’s friends, in his favorite jacket and hoodie, the ones he’d been wearing this morning in fact. I’ll meet her soon then, he thought, fighting the urge to cheer. He found one of Marinette in a cap and gown, hugging a small Asian woman and being hugged by a huge mustachioed man who had such a look of pride that he could only be her father.

Then he found a picture of himself in some sick stage gear with a fancy guitar, standing next to—

“Sass,” he hissed, when Marinette went into the bathroom. “I played with Jagged Stone?”

Sass chuckled. “You did.”

“Holy shit,” he muttered. “Will I remember this when it all goes back to normal?”

“Difficult to sssay,” the snake kwami spread his flippers out. “Mossst will not, but asss my partner you are a special case. Mossst likely, yes you will remember sssome of it, but as one remembers a dream. A few clear details, and the rest a haze.”

I won’t forget her, then, he thought, tucking his shirt in and shrugging into his coat, eyes on a picture of him dipping Marinette into a kiss in front of a fountain. Did he know that fountain? It looked familiar.

He froze when a thin wail echoed through the small apartment.

“Luka, can you get the baby?” Marinette called. “I’m not quite done.”

Baby?? He whirled around and looked at Sass, who just grinned, tongue flicking in amusement.

“Luka?” Marinette called again.

“Uh, sure!” Luka called back, stumbling towards the bedroom door, tripping over his suddenly larger than usual feet. Sass went ahead of him, chuckling as they led him down the hallway.

“You are having way too much fun with this,” Luka muttered. “Shouldn’t you be more worried about the integrity of the space-time continuum or some geeky shit like that?”

Sass paused outside the room where the wailing was coming from, “We have been partnersss for many yearsss,” Sass told him, and there something undefinable in the kwami’s smile that gave Luka the shivers. “I realize you have no reason to trussst me, but I trussst you.”

Luka flushed, but before he could say anything, the kwami phased through the door. Luka blinked for a moment. “Neat trick,” he muttered to himself, carefully opening the door. Sass was hovering over a white crib, crooning a sibilant

lullaby.

Luka leaned over the crib, but at the sight of the swaddled and wailing infant, he panicked. “Sass, what do I do?”

“Pick her up,” Sass instructed blandly. “Just mind her head.”

Luka slid his hands, still thin and long but also bigger than he remembered, under the baby, sliding one up under her neck, and lifted her carefully out of the crib. “Oh my God,” he whispered, a fresh wave of panic washing over him. She was so tiny in his grown-up hands.

But once again, with his brain paralyzed, it was as if his body knew what to do. He pulled the baby close and held her to his chest, swaying and making gentle shushing noises. Luka found himself relaxing a little bit and the crying quieted. Softly he sang, “My love is like a red, red rose,” as his mother used to sing to him and Juleka. “My love is like a melody that’s sweetly played in tune.”

Luka brought the baby up to his shoulder and rubbed his cheek against her soft hair. She made a soft cooing noise. “What’s her name?” he asked quietly.

“Erika,” Sass replied. “With a k.” Luka looked at him and Sass shrugged. “Your mother insisted.”

“She would,” Luka chuckled, and resumed singing to her. “And fare thee well my only love, and fare thee well awhile,” he sang. Luka looked up as Marinette appeared in the doorway, dressed in a glittering gown with her hair in an updo. “And I will come again my dear, though it were ten thousand miles,” he finished softly, eyes fixed on her.

Marinette smiled and came to him. Luka lowered the baby, thinking Marinette meant to take her. Instead she looped the tie he’d left on the bed around his neck and began to tie it for him. “You’re such a good dad,” she said affectionately, and Luka blushed.

She finished with his tie and then stepped back, smoothing the fabric of her dress self-consciously around her middle. “Do I look okay?”

“You’re stunning,” Luka told her honestly. “I can’t believe this is my life. I can’t believe I get to be with someone like you, and—“ He looked down at the baby in his arms, who was beginning to scrunch her face and fuss a little. “I can’t believe I get to have this.”

Marinette smiled, coming near to lay her head on his shoulder and caress the baby’s face. “It’s still overwhelming sometimes isn’t it? Let me take her, I’ll change her while you make her a bottle.

Luka opened his mouth and then shut it again. He just gave her the baby and walked out of the nursery. He didn’t have the faintest idea how to make a bottle, but he couldn’t explain that to Marinette, and he felt he was less likely to irrevocably screw up a bottle than changing the baby. Sass zipped in front of him once he was out of Marinette’s sight. Luka wondered if she knew about the kwami. What was a kwami, anyway? Sass had avoided that answer.

Sass guided him through making the bottle, and Marinette came out with the baby just as he was breathing a sigh of relief at having accomplished it. Luka hovered while she fed the baby—his daughter, oh my God—trying to look at more of the pictures around the room without being too obvious.

“There,” Marinette said, setting Erika in a baby swing by the window that Luka hadn’t even noticed and switching it on. Erika waved her little hand at the brightly colored baubles hanging from it as it swayed her back and forth. “Hopefully that’ll keep her happy for a bit.”

Marinette sighed as she straightened, and then come towards him. He opened his arms automatically to receive her. She snuggled into his chest for a moment (best feeling ever). “I’m excited to go out tonight, but nervous about leaving her. It’s our first night out together since she was born,” she said quietly, and Luka squeezed her tighter at the vulnerable tone in her voice.

Then, grinning up at him, she tugged him down by the tie and kissed him, and Luka was forced to revise his opinions on ties just slightly. Maybe they weren’t all bad. He lost his mind just a little bit when her fingers slid up into his hair again. He pulled her up against him, and lost the rest of his senses in her.

“Mmm, down boy,” she giggled, pulling away from him. “Juleka’s going to be here any minute and I know you don’t want to answer the door all hot and bothered.”

“Right,” he said said breathlessly, wondering if he was always this goggle-eyed and speechless in her presence or if she would eventually notice he was acting like a complete moron.

She gave him a smile that made his toes curl. “I’ll make it up to you when we get home.”

Oh God. Kissing was one thing, but he hoped Ladybug managed to fix things before then because he was pretty sure that if he had to consider the implications of sleeping with his future-wife that he’d just met while in twenty-seven-year-old him’s body it would give him some kind of mental breakdown. Not to mention that she would surely figure out something was up—something was wrong if he passed out the moment she touched him.

A knock at the door saved him from his mini meltdown. “There she is,” Marinette moved away from him to answer the door. Luka took the chance to breathe a little bit and give his older self a mental nod of respect for being around that every day and still managing to, apparently, function like a normal adult.

“Hi bro,” he heard behind him.

“Hey Jules,” he answered automatically, turning, only to get another shock. Juleka had always been pretty, but she’d grown up into a beautiful woman. More importantly, she stood tall, her shoulders back, her hair pulled away from her face, and she looked him in the eye.

He almost teared up, he was so proud. She cocked an eyebrow. “You’re being weirder than usual,” she said.

Not mumbled. Not grunted. She said it. Softly and in a deadpan tone, but audibly, and clearly.

Luka hugged her, overcome. She startled, but patted his back.

“He’s a little emotional today,” Marinette said beside him, rubbing his arm. “I’m supposed to be the one with the post-pregnancy mood swings,” she teased.

Luka straightened and let Juleka go, smiling at them both. “I just feel lucky, that’s all.”

“Whatever,” Juleka huffed, in a very typically Juleka fashion that made him grin. “Where’s my little monster?” She shoved past him, heading for the baby. Marinette slipped under his arm and he put it around her shoulders, squeezing lightly.

Suddenly he felt dizzy, and dimly he heard Marinette say “Luka?” and suddenly everything went black.

He woke up on his back on cold cement, staring up at the clear blue sky, with the familiar sound of the Seine in his ears. I’m back, he thought numbly. His head hurt, probably where he had cracked it on the pavement passing out.

Passing out. Did future me pass out? I hope I didn’t worry Marinette.

Marinette. He blushed—a proper intense, 17-year-old blush—and covered his face with his hands. He picked himself up off the pavement, checked his precious guitar over. If it had been damaged in his fall, Ladybug had fixed it. He packed it up in the case and started his walk back home.

Sass was right. No matter how much he thought over his—vision? Or whatever it was...anyway, the details slipped away. Even Marinette was fading; the feel of her in his arms and the thrill of her kiss was slowly but surely growing foggy moment by moment. By the time he got to the Liberty, all that remained was a hazy impression of love and happiness and belonging and the utter certainty that he wanted it back. Only a few things remained clear—Sass, his future wife’s eyes, her song, the softness of his daughter’s hair on his cheek, his pride in Juleka.

Luka faced his mother’s interrogation, and her brief but genuine concern as she inspected his head and declared it harder than the pavement. Then he went below to his room, feeling tired and vaguely empty. Luka sat on his bed staring at at his bare forearm for a few minutes, and then kicked off his shoes and flopped full length on it.

He wasn’t ready for any of that stuff, Luka told himself. Marriage, fatherhood, are you kidding? He had plenty of life to live before he got to that point. This was fine. He was fine where he was. He liked his unhurried pace. Savor the moment. Live every breath. No strings, very few rules. A wife and a kid and fancy parties (was there a party? he thought he remembered something about a party)...would there even be room for his art in a life like that? It all seemed so...mainstream. Not exactly the rock star lifestyle or wandering street artist that usually popped up in his bored daydreams on the rare days he bothered to think about the future. And there was no passion in marriage. Not like his parents’ long-running on-again off-again chaotic love affair. Marriage was boring and...stable. Secure. It wasn’t like he wanted that.

He remembered those eyes and the way they had looked at him and a warm feeling started in his chest. He no longer remembered what it had felt like to kiss her, but he remembered that it was good. And definitely not passionless.

Luka pulled his pillow over his head and groaned. He’d never been very good at self-deception.

Sunset light was filtering through the portholes when he woke up. He sat up in his bed, ruffled his hair, and rubbed his face.

“Welcome back, sleeping beauty,” Juleka mumbled from her vanity, where she sat brushing her hair.

Luka sighed. “Hey Jules. Were you near the akuma?”

“No,” she replied. “Nowhere close.”

“Good.” He got to his feet and stretched his back.

“Leftovers in the kitchen if you’re hungry.”

“I’m always hungry,” Luka groaned, stretching forward.

“Maman didn’t want to wake you for dinner but we saved you some. She said you got hit?” She looked up at him. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he smiled, coming over to squeeze her shoulder. “Nothing Ladybug couldn’t fix. My head doesn’t even hurt any—“ he stopped, staring at her wall.

“Luka?” Juleka frowned at him.

“Can I see that?” he asked, pointing.

Juleka gave him a look but reached up and pulled the picture down, handing it to him.

Luka stared at the picture of Juleka and two of her classmates. Juleka’s visible eye was open wide, her smile huge, and she was claiming her space in the picture. If he tried, he could see the beginnings of the woman she would become.

But it was the heavenly blue eyes of the girl next to her that caught his attention and quickened his pulse. “Remind me who this is again?”

“It’s Rose and Marinette, from my class,” Juleka mumbled. “I told you about Marinette. She set up the photos and broke the curse.” Slowly she reached for the picture, giving him a concerned look the whole time. He let her take it from his hand and watched her put it back up on the wall. No. No way it was this easy.

“Marinette,” he said to himself thoughtfully. “What’s she like?”

“She’s a sweetheart, until you make her mad. Got some fire in her. Designs clothes. Crazy talented and mad skills to boot. Hates horror movies though.” Luka smiled. That was a pretty big character flaw in Juleka’s eyes, but since he didn’t like them either, it was fine by him. Juleka studied him a moment. “What’s wrong with you, you’re being weird,” she told him flatly.

“I just think her eyes are pretty,” he said, shrugging, and then his stomach growled. “Ugh, I’m going to go eat.”

“Well,” Juleka said slowly as she watched him walk away, “I invited her over for the music festival, so you can meet her in person then.”

“Yeah?” he said absently as he turned away. The music festival was only a couple weeks away. “Cool.”

By the time the festival came, he had managed to put his little out-of-body-and-in-his-other-body experience out of his mind. With as much practice as they’d been cramming in, and all the decorating and set up, getting the lights and the sound all working the way they wanted them to, it wasn’t even that hard.

The number of people on the boat was beginning to get to him and Luka had gone downstairs for a little quiet time before rehearsal, and he must have been down there longer than he meant because they sent someone down looking for him. He heard her startle and, chuckling, he opened his eyes and met hers and…he didn’t know this girl except for Juleka’s picture but...

But he knew those eyes.

And her soul sang.

#fics #lukanette #i am lukanette trash i admit it #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #miraculous ladybug #miraculousladybug #ml fics #quickspins

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vicunaburger · 4 years

Text

Admittedly, I’m Hard to See

Fandom: Beetlejuice the Musical Chapters: 5/? Pairing: Beetlejuice x OC (Holidae) The Players: Beetlejuice, Lydia Deetz, Holidae Bell Word Count: 1,900 Warnings: M for Language

Notes: Beej is a little shit, but we knew that, yeah? He also has a wide knowledge of theatre.

Chapter 5 - In Which Things Go Awry Over Coffee

Lydia tapped impatiently on the glass container that held her still-brewing coffee.

She had thought that by getting a cheap French press it would bring nothing but benefits in the long run: delicious caffeine without leaving your house and waiting for some hipster barista to make it for you. Unfortunately, that just meant that she was now the hipster barista in her own home and had to make it herself, which took precious time away in the morning hours.

Sometimes, she would get lucky and Holidae would have already made it for her; a result that came from her roommate’s insomnia. Often, she would stay up all through the night, and into the next morning when Lydia would arrive for breakfast. Holidae would already be standing in the kitchen, scrolling through her phone as she sipped from her own cup.

Lucky might have been a selfish thought. More like benefiting off a friend’s unfortunate circumstances. Harsh, but Holidae never complained openly about it, so Lydia never worried about taking advantage.

The timer she had set went off loudly, and Lydia wandered over to the stove to shut it down. When she went back to the counter, her coffee was… gone.

Instead of flipping out at the sudden lack of an object that was once there and now isn’t, she calmly sat down at the kitchen table, taking a deep breath.

“If I don’t have a cup in my hands in the next 10 seconds, I’m calling a priest.” She announced to the seemingly empty space.

In a puff of green smoke her coffee appeared in her favored black mug, elegantly placed on a lime green coaster. Lydia picked up the cup, taking a sip with a relaxed sigh.

“Good morning, babes!” Beetlejuice appeared in the seat across from her, a newspaper in both hands. “Supposed to rain today.”

“Is that right? Damn… I was planning to shoot the cemetery later.” She tilted her head, trying to read the front page of the paper. “Why are you so… chipper?”

Beej put the paper down, “Because you’re home? Because I get to meet a new friend? Because rainy days bring out those fat worms in the garden and they are the best for snacking? Lots of reasons.”

Lydia stared deep into the dark liquid swirling around in the cup, “BJ, about Holli…”

The ghost tried to hide the chuckle he let out with a cough, remembering the previous night’s interactions with the breather. He was sure Lyds would get a kick out of the fact he had gotten Holidae to summon him without help from his bestest best friend. He was a very clever fiend.

“What about her?” He asked, going back to his paper nonchalantly.

“I’m really sorry I didn’t have you two meet last night.” She confessed, warming both hands around the cup. “I’m just nervous you two aren’t going to get along.”

Another suspicious cough, “Oh, don’t you worry, Lyds. From what you told me, I’m sure we’ll get along like the Sherman brothers.”

There was a long pause, “…Beej, they hated each other.”

“Really? But that sugar sweet song catalogue…” He peeked over the top of the paper incredulously, “Well, nevermind that. We’ll be the best pals, babes.”

Lydia sighed again, “You’re my best friend, Beej, but she’s my best non-ghost friend. What if I have pick sides in an argument? What if she freaks out and moves away forever? Its pressure I don’t want! That’s why I wanted to introduce you two on my terms.”

An unfamiliar sensation struck Beetlejuice deep in the pit of his stomach, “…yeah?”

“And… and Holidae isn’t always… balanced. Not in the psycho killer type way, but she can get stuck on this anxiety autopilot. It’s hard to get her out of her own head. It’s why she doesn’t sleep often.” Lydia continued, sipping her coffee quietly. “So I felt that if I steered the conversation between the three of us, it would keep everything neutral, you know?”

That sensation hit him harder this time, and he desperately tried to hide his face behind the paper, “…no, no I getcha’, babes. You were just being your usual, thoughtful self is all. No hard feelings. None. All good.”

Beetlejuice was infinitely glad he was hidden from view, lest Lydia see the bright yellow mess his hair had become; a clear sign he was nervous. He hadn’t stopped to consider Lydia might actually have a really good reason for keeping quiet about him, instead of just to prolong his torture. She was always thinking of other people – mostly him to be honest – and he had gone behind her back and completely botched her plans.

His stomach was doing flips, and he was sure he’d be sweating bullets right now if had the capacity.

Ah, guilt.

That was the feeling.

…it had been a while.

Not wanting Lydia to worry herself any more than she had, he tried to calm himself down, desperately willing his mood to change into something better. After a few moments, he vanished his paper out of existence, reaching over and patting Lydia on the head.

“Baaaaabes, don’t you worry! You just let me know when you need me, and I’ll come running. Or floating. Whichever I feel like. Anyway, what I’m saying is take your time and don’t get all antsy about stuff. I can behave… sometimes.” He smiled wide, hoping she couldn’t hear the tension in his voice.

Brushing his hand away, Lydia smoothed out her frizzed hair, “I appreciate it, Beej. As soon as she comes down, I’ll talk to her. Promise.”

“Hey, I’m easy.” He chuckled, vanishing into thin air, leaving his friend alone for the moment.

---

Beetlejuice reappeared in Holidae’s room, spotting the breather sprawled out on the bed and haphazardly tangled in her blankets. He noted she had changed clothes between now and when he left her; sporting what looked like men’s boxer shorts and an oversized t-shirt. Not the slinky lingerie – or better yet commando – look he had secretly hoped for, but the shorts provided a good view of her well-rounded hips and thighs.

Tiptoeing over to the bed, he reached down and poked at her cheek lightly with his finger, “Hey, Holly Hobby, time to wake up. We need to talk.”

Absolutely no response came from the woman on the bed, only the continued rhythmic rising and falling of her chest. Undeterred, he scratched at her face with his claw, hoping the more abrasive touch would do the trick. Holidae inhaled deeply, swatting at her face and rolling over onto her stomach.

Not the response he wanted, although he was momentarily distracted by the fact her shorts were riding up against the swell of her ass. A strangled sort of noise worked its way out of his throat, little streaks of pink highlights sprouting throughout his hair. He told Lydia he could behave, but how could he when such an opportunity was staring him right in the face.

There was the nagging moral quandary to what he was about to do; and he did pause to consider the alternatives to his proposed action. Sure, he could just try and continue to wake her up nicely, but he knew his idea would a much faster – and profitable – venture.

Beetlejuice crackled his knuckles, limbering up as though he were gearing up for a boxing match. With a flourish, he brought the back of his hand down right on Holidae’s butt cheek; a sharp smack sounding out as his skin hit her flesh.

In an instant, Holidae was up and swinging wildly, managing to catch him in the jaw with a left hook. Of course, never having been in a real fist fight – watching plenty of action movies sure, but those didn’t count – she was unprepared for the jolt of pain running down her wrist with the impact. Clutching her hand to her chest, she fell back onto the bed, curling up like a ball bug.

“Son of a bitch-!” Holidae whined, nursing her hand, “What the absolute hell are you made of?”

Beej was working his jaw into place, not suspecting the sudden strength of the counterattack, “Dead guy stuff?”

“Fuck you!” She snapped, shaking out her hand to get some feeling back into it. “I knew that. Wish I didn’t, but I do. And now I will think about that forever.”

Between her hand popping loudly, and the stinging skin on her backside, Holidae was having a hell of a time trying to process being woken up so suddenly from her deep sleep. Beetlejuice took the opportunity to slide into bed next to her, pulling her up by her shoulders into a sitting position. She blinked at him owlishly; her hair flattened in odd places from sleep, and her mascara smudged under her eyes.

He threw an arm around her shoulders, squeezing her body against his and leaning in as though he were whispering a secret, “Listen, baby, when you come downstairs, you have to make sure Lydia has no idea we know each other.”

Holidae could smell that damp earth musk about him, her nose twitching with the scent, “Yeah, no, I’m going to tell her.”

Beetlejuice squeezed tighter, “Ah, see, here’s the part where I tell you that you’re going to keep your pretty mouth shut about it because I will make you keep it shut. Lydia is all stressed out about us getting along, and if she finds out that you and I are buddies, she will get angry. I don’t want angry Lydia. I want happy Lydia.”

She was about to object, but recalled an incident where she had seen angry Lydia firsthand. It was during an art show and a critic was being especially rude about one of the photos Lydia had been presenting as part of her collection. Needless to say, once she was done witnessing the small, doll-like Lydia completely tearing the man into pieces, Holidae resolved to never be on the receiving end of the other woman’s wrath.

Holidae could only imagine what she would have done to the ghost, and by extension, herself.

“If… if I agree, will you promise never to wake me up like that again?” she attempted to pry his hand off of her shoulder.

“Of course, Buddy Holly~ I will never wake you up like that again.” He grinned, inwardly excited that she hadn’t been more specific in her instructions.

He just loved loopholes.

Holidae side-eyed the ghost next to her, sticking out her hand for him to shake, “Deal.”

Beej took hold of her hand, giving it a good shake… before pulling her closer and planting a very sloppy kiss to her cheek, “You’re the best, you know that?”

Squealing in protest, Holidae shoved him away, “No no no, I don’t know where you’ve been!”

“Well-” He started, but he was interrupted.

“Rhetorical statement,” she pointed a finger at him threateningly, “If you want me to go along with your lie, go away. Now. Do the vanishing trick. I have to get dressed and stuff.”

Shrugging, BJ vanished into the air without a word. Holidae waited several minutes before getting up out of the bed, wanting to make sure she was alone before stripping out of her pajamas. Paranoid, she kept her chest covered as much as she possibly could, not trusting that he wasn’t lurking around somewhere trying to catch her off guard again.

Waiting until the last possible moment, she let the shirt drop to the floor, grabbing a bra and slipping it around her torso.

“I knew you had a big rack,” the gravely voice laughed behind her, but he was gone the moment she turned around.

Holidae angrily pulled her shirt over her head, mumbling in what she was quickly adopting as a new mantra, “We want happy Lydia… happy Lydia…”

#beetlejuice x oc #beetlejuice the musical #beetlejuice broadway #beetlejuice fanfiction #writing time #beetlejuice x self insert

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ertrunkenerwassergeist · 5 years

Text

Heart of Thunder - Chapter 3

A new chapter is here! Link to AO3 like always.

Cor felt strangely adrift as the door closed behind him with a silent click that echoed in his head like a drum beat. He walked through the barracks, his long legs eating the distance with the grace of a stalking carnivore. He had not come far when he heard passionate voices locked in a lively discussion. On silent feet he doubled back down the way he came from, not certain he could stomach more strange cultural practices at the moment, and made a beeline for the exit.

The air outside was dry and warm, if slightly cool with the first hint of autumn. Shielding his eyes from the bright sunlight, Cor put a tight lid on the tiny voice screaming in his mind in panic and continued on his way towards the private meeting rooms situated on the lower levels of the citadel.

People kept well out of his way when they saw the dark frown clouding his face. One poor secretary even flattened herself against the wall, clutching the folder within her hands like a lifeline. Normally Cor tried to keep such reactions down to a minimum, but today he just couldn't bring himself to care.

The doors of the lift opened with barely the whisper of a sound and let Cor step out into the corridor. A thick, black carpet lay in the middle of the dark stone floor, dampening is steps. Tasteful flower arrangements in delicate vases situated upon gilded tables barely big enough to hold them, were the only splashes of colour to be seen. His destination wasn't far now. A dark wooden door like every other one in the vicinity. He stepped inside without knocking, surprising the occupants into silence.

There were Lord Sagitta, Minister of Outside Affairs – which he took to mean outside Insomnia and not outside Lucis – and Lords Caulis and Hypocris, Minister of Energy and Environment and President of the Hunters and Wildlife Protection Association, respectively. He could guess what this 'important meeting' was about.

“My Lords,” he said in way of a greeting, accompanied with a shallow bow, and closed the door behind him.

“Marshall Leonis, greetings,” said Lord Sagitta, his watery eyes blinking nervously. “I have to apologize for the lack of refreshments. We didn't expect you quite this soon. Please, take a seat.”

The table dominating the room was indeed empty of the usual carafes of water and traditional watered down wine. None of the three Lords bothered to stand up as propriety would have demanded of them.

Cor may not be flaunting it like some idiots, but 'Marshall' wasn't the only official title he carried. His second one, Paladin of the Crystal, granted him the title of a minor Lord by default, and as such propriety had to be observed. The three Lords in front of him knew that and chose to ignore it. A power move that bounced off of him without effect.

“I prefer to stand, my Lords,” replied Cor in a flat voice and settled into parade rest at the end of the table.

The three Lords shared what they probably thought were inconspicuous glances beneath his flat stare as he waited for them to start this farce of a meeting. Regis probably didn't know about it, either.

“We know you are a busy man, Marshall, so we will try to make this quick,” said Lord Hypocris with a fake, placid smile.

The rake thin man was of lower rank than the other two, but quite clearly the one behind this meeting, if Cor was reading the atmosphere right. And he was seldom wrong on these things these days. With a slow and carefully calculated deliberateness the Lord leafed through a crisp stack of papers in front of him, the other two, sitting next to him, tried to look dignified and important. To Cor they all just looked like greedy toads, which was an insult to every toad in existence.

“Early this morning you returned from you patrol outside Insomnia with a group of poachers you apprehended and their... loot, shall we say. What can you tell us about them?”

Lord Hypocris looked at him with an expression so earnest and serious it couldn't be anything other than fake. Cor had known the noble for long enough to note that he tended to over-emote, when he either wanted something he thought valuable, or feared to lose a lot of money. Seeing who was in his company, it was probably a bit of both this time.

“A group of five, two female, three male; the youngest barely of legal age. I saved them from a pack of wild animals before I knew what they were. They were on their way to Lestallum to sell pelts and other parts of endangered animals. Four were injured during the attack, one life threatening, the other three only had a few scrapes and bruises. I screened their... wares and brought them back to Insomnia for medical attention and their punishment. If you read my preliminary report, you already know this.”

“Do I understand this correctly: You screened their stowage before you got the injured party medical attention?” asked Lord Hypocris, folding his thin fingers over the papers.

“Yes,” Cor answered plainly.

Lord Caulis wrinkled his nose in indignation. “We expected better, Marshall. How will this poor man be able to face his trail, if he is half dead?”

“As far as I'm aware, the poaching of animals is still fined with the loss of a hand, no exceptions.”

“That sentence hasn't been carried out in a century!” bristled Lord Sagitta. “We are no barbarians, like other elements within this city. And even then, this sentence only comes into effect when the animals in question are protected by the crown.”

“Ah, but three of the pelts were that of silver spotted coeurls,” Cor said and watched in satisfaction as all three Lords paled.

“That cannot be true,” stuttered Lord Hypocris.

His hands frantically leafed through his papers until he found a list. Brown eyes devoured it rapidly until they stilled. He grew, if possible, even paler and without a word slid the list over to his companions who were anxiously staring at him. Cor's lips twitched in satisfaction when he heard Lord Caulis' strangled gasp.

Clearly trying to gather his bearings, Lord Hypocris cleared his throat. “Then we need to decide what to do with the pelts.”

There was a greedy glint in all three men's eyes, Cor didn't like at all. A silent suspicion started to needle his mind, and it didn't paint a pretty picture.

“I have claimed all pelts and other parts belonging to coeurls as my battle-spoils. The paperwork for that has already been filed and approved of,” he said, silently daring them to object with his gaze.

The claiming of battle-spoils was an ancient practice that had survived until modern day, despite it now being highly regulated. It could only be done during active war, the claim must be uncontended by other participants of the battle and only members of nobility could claim battle-spoils in the first place. This was one of the very few times he was actually glad for the title Regis had practically shoved at him the moment her had been sitting on the throne. Not that he would ever tell him that.

Lord Sagitta's face grew a splotchy red in anger. He opened his mouth to say something undoubtedly malapropos, but stopped himself at the warning glare of Lord Hypocris.

“If there is nothing else, my Lords, I need to return to my duties,” said Cor blandly.

“Of course, of course,” nodded Lord Caulis, obviously eager to see the Marshall gone. “Do not let us keep you. Thank you for answering our questions, Marshall.”

“I am always happy to do so,” Cor said as he bowed.

Everybody in the room knew that that was an obvious lie. No one said anything as the Marshall straightened again and left the room.

On the outside Cor was perfectly expressionless. On the inside however, he was seething. Who did those three bloated heads of impudence and self-importance think they were? He forced himself to take a calming breath and gritted his teeth as he entered the lift. He could think about the implications of those three being interested in exotic and rare furs later. Training was a very enticing thought right about now. The steady flow of the kata always helped him to clear his mind. And that was exactly what he needed.

His steps echoed in the mostly deserted hallways and he couldn't help the quiet sigh escaping him as the heavy door of the private training salle closed behind him. Right about now a red light would start glowing over the door to warn others away.

He moved through his warm ups diligently, but with purpose. Time. He needed time to process what had happened today.

A crystalline tinkle sounded as his blade appeared in his outstretched hands in a shower of blue sparks of magic. The action as comforting as it was helping him to ground himself in the moment. Cor took a centring breath and the next moment he was moving.

He had never intended to marry. Not necessarily because he had no desire to, but because he knew he was a difficult person to live with. No matter what Regis and Clarus said, he was self-aware enough to know that. But now...

Ulric's – Nyx' – gaze when he had taken the pelt, and later when they had talked, had stirred something in him. Something Cor couldn't name and didn't know what to do with. Infatuation perhaps? No that wasn't it.

His sword cut the air with the lethal whispers of a song as he performed a horizontal cut and transitioned seamlessly into a block.

Either way, no matter his feelings, he was engaged now to a man he could respect for his unquestioning loyalty and skill in a fight. He would pull the other man's files to learn more, but he knew that he had never left a comrade behind on the battlefield, alive or dead, if he could help it. An admirable trait, if foolish at times.

Cor had still no real idea what he had done to catch Nyx' eyes – it couldn't just be the pelt, right? A tiny part of himself couldn't help but be excited about it. For a long time he had tried to bridge the gap between the Galahdians – Galahkari, he needed to remember that – and the Lucians without much to show for it. But now he had an in to learn what they had been seemingly doing wrong for years on end. An anticipatory grin stretched over his face.

He would do this.

He would do this right and maybe get to hunt down some corrupt nobles in the meantime.

#ffxv #a coeurl's courtship au #heart of thunder #cor leonis #he's gonna enjoy getting rid of those nobles so much #corrupt nobles are corrupt #cor is a minor lord #and he hates it #lucian culture #I've wanted to write a story where that's more heavily featured for ages #my fics #the spirit writes

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theonewiththefanfics · 7 years

Text

Gone For Too Long (one-shot)

Requested: @bumblebet2 thank you, love, for requesting! I hope I did it justice :))

Summary: Reader leaves for a mission that should take around a week, but as the days roll by, Bucky gets more and more worried.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: mentions of sex; swearing

Genre: general fluff

Word count: 4432

“Buck, it’s gonna be fine,” Y/N rolled over to see her boyfriend of five months, a thumb moving to smooth out the worry lines on his forehead. His hand snaked around her waist, pulling their naked bodies together, the same way they had been just minutes ago, the smell of sex still very prominent in the air. “I know, I just can’t help but worry,” he wove his hand through her hair, the Y/H/C strands catching the early morning sun, making an angelic glow cast around Y/N. “I mean I know you have no problems taking care of yourself, I’ve seen you on the field.” The girl snorted at that. Yeah, he had seen her on the field. That is where they had met. The Avengers had been called out on a last minute mission and everything had turned to absolute shit in a second. Hydra had taken over a town in South Korea and even with the help of SHIELD, it was a massacre. Civilians were being evacuated as quickly as possible, yet it still seemed for the one person they saved, five dropped dead. Until Y/N and her team had shown up, the Guardians of the Galaxy sweeping in quite literally. “What brings you here, Quill?” Stark shouted through the comms, knowing quite well their signals had intercepted one another and linked, courtesy of Rocket’s tech skills when they'd first met while fighting Thanos. “A detour. Had to drop off a friend and well it looks like you were in some need of help.” “What friend?” Bucky grunted while knocking a guy out.

Suddenly a shadow from above dropped to the ground, two swords impaling the agent that had gone into Bucky’s blind spot. “Me.” A girl with bright Y/E/C eyes, shiny Y/H/C hair and the sweetest smile he’d ever seen extended a fingerless-glove gloved hand. “Y/N Y/L/N, a pleasure to meet you.” “Bucky Barnes, and trust me, the pleasure is all mine, doll,” he couldn’t help the smile that formed on his own face. “And I’m Sam,” an annoyed voice invaded the ears of the pair. “Would you mind going back to the mission, Frosty? You can flirt later.” Bucky’s cheeks heated up at the statement, which was somewhat true. The girl was beautiful, but she’d definitely be out of his league. I mean, come on, who’d want to be with a monster like that? But Y/N’s answer surprised him very much so as well as ignited a little bit of hope, even if it had been a throwaway comment. “I don’t know, what was it- Falcon? I’m kind of a multitasker. Can do a few things at the same time,” the girl’s punch landed square on a Hydra agent’s jaw, the impact being so harsh, his head knocked to the side and his neck snapped. “And B-T-Ws, I’ll flirt with whomever I want whenever I want, so please stop being jealous and shut your mouth, thank you very much!” The super soldier had fallen for her then and there. Not only was she beautiful, she could hold her own, taking down ten agents in the span of three seconds. Though almost immediately any confidence that he’d gathered while fighting alongside the fiery girl, dissipated when she had launched herself into the arms of the dark-haired Asgardian prince. “Loki!” her joyous laughter boomed over the now quiet battlefield, the Avengers gathering together and being joined by the Guardians. “Oh, how I’ve missed your idiotic ass.” The raven-haired man chuckled, clutching tightly on to the girl. To Bucky, it seemed obvious there was something between the pair, so right that second, he decided to distance himself from the girl. Especially given the fact that she had decided to stay here on Earth and would be living with them at the tower. Life just liked to take away any possibility of him being happy. But he deserved it, at least that is what Bucky thought. The first few months had been torturous. She was everywhere and always around him. At least for Bucky, it seemed that way. It was like his senses were now only tuned in on Y/N. Wherever she went Loki went too, so his only tactic was- be quiet and disappear. But that didn’t last long. Their rooms had been set up on the same floor. When Bucky had moved in he wanted to be on his own, and now his floor was the least occupied one. Well, each floor would house only three people, the living space being giant, but that wasn’t the issue. His issue was the nightmares that plagued him every night. When Y/N had moved in, he actually tried to stay awake during the night and sleep through the day, but because of the constant missions, that really wasn’t a possibility. So he had asked Friday if it was possible to make his room soundproof, but due to safety reasons, she could only turn it up to 50%. And seeing how Steve could still hear him from the floor above, even without having the super hearing, Y/N would have no problems at noting how loud his screams were. But if they did wake her up, she said nothing. She didn’t mention it, didn’t ask him if everything was alright, nor did she get pissed off or looked sleep deprived. Until one night. It had been a particularly vivid dream, the blood splatter on his skin felt so real, he jumped up in the bed with a gasp, only to find a pair of gentle palms on his cheeks, where the red liquid had been, two bright Y/E/C eyes filled with concern looking into his cerulean ones. “Shh, it’s okay. None of that was real,” her voice cooed, his heart rate immediately stabilising just at the sound of her speaking. “ ‘M sorry... I’m sorry...” he put his head in his hands or tried to, but Y/N didn’t let go of his face, stroking his features in a soothing motion. “ ’S okay. I wasn’t asleep, and I’m just glad you’re alright.” He looked around his room. It was barely furnished, as Bucky hadn’t even attempted to decorate it, leaving the walls bare and cold, but just Y/N’s presence seemed to soften up the hard edges of the table and fill the room with warmth and love. “How, umm, how did you get in?” “Friday.” “Oh, right…” Bucky lowered his head, Y/N’s palms sliding from his cheeks to his own hands. His heart skipped a beat as she didn’t seem to mind the metal arm, her fingers tracing invisible shapes on both of them as if the left one wasn’t the mark of a monster. “You wanna talk about it? The nightmare?” “No… not really… don’t wanna keep you up any longer…” She chuckled, looking into Bucky’s eyes. “As I said- I wasn’t asleep, and I don’t think I’ll fall anytime soon.” “How,” he cleared his throat, “how come?” “Insomnia.” Bucky was surprised at the statement. “But you never look tired.” “Perks of having makeup.” He took his left hand out of her palm to rake it through the messy tangles that was his brown hair, immediately missing Y/N’s skin, even though he couldn’t actually feel it. “What do you do then?” Bucky wanted to know what the girl spent her time doing, seeing as she hadn’t ever walked into his room before. “Mostly hang out with Loki and read. He can’t really sleep either.” Loki. Of course. His cheeks heated up remembering how close the two were, on mission briefings always sending suggestive glances across the room. He retracted his flesh hand from Y/N’s, but his eyes caught the sight of almost disappointment flashing through her face. No, it couldn’t have been that. She deeply sighed. “Bucky, why do you keep avoiding me? Did I do something wrong? Did I upset you in any way? If yes, then I’m sorry I didn-“ “No, doll, God no!” he immediately grasped her hand, now it was his thumb tracing her knuckles. “I just… don’t want to step over a line. Especially seeing how close you and Loki are. I don’t wanna give the wrong impression…” “The wrong impression?” there was complete and utter confusion written across her face. “Loki? What are you on about?” The Winter Soldier didn’t look up from their connected hands, he couldn’t face the girl. “Buck,” a gentle finger slid underneath his chin, making their eyes meet. “Do you think I’m together with Loki? Is that why you didn’t talk to me?” He was in a trance, the New York lights glinting in her irises, making a little galaxy bloom in her eyes. “Buck, we’re only friends. Really good ones, yes. He saved my life on quite a few occasions while I was out there in space. Even allowed me to stay on Asgard at one point while I needed refuge. Yes, we hang out a lot, yes we love spending time together, and yes I love him,” Bucky’s heart shattered at the statement before being mended back with what Y/N said next. “But no more than you love a family member. Besides,” it was Y/N’s turn to blush and look down at where Bucky had stilled his movements, yet hadn’t let go of their hands, “I’ve been asking him advice on something…” “On what?” it came out like a whisper, his head subconsciously leaning in closer to her. “Well for one, I wanted him to help me figure out why you were avoiding me, but now that that’s out of the way… I wanted him to give me advice on how to ask someone out. I’ve had the largest crush on him since the second we met, but I never seemed to find any courage to do so. And he didn’t seem to like me like that, so I wasn’t sure what to do…” Her eyes bore into his, the breath catching in Bucky’s throat. “And now?” “And now,” she scooted closer, their noses brushing against one another, “now I think I know where he stands and why he was so cold to me…” “Yeah?” he could feel her breath fanning over his face, Bucky’s heart beating so fast he was almost positive she could hear it. Y/N’s eyes closed, one palm moving to cup his unshaven cheek, gently stroking his jawline. “Yeah,” she whispered and connected their lips. To his own surprise, Bucky didn’t freeze, a hand snaking around her waist in an instant, to pull their bodies closer. He wanted to be closer. He needed to be closer. The man was soaring. He was in heaven, their bodies moulding together like two pieces of a puzzle, no, it was more than that. It was like he had been missing a part of him, a part he didn’t know he needed or craved that much. Like his soul being revived and was now whole. He pulled on her T-shirt, the girl’s legs straddling him and he leaned back and she rested her elbows by his head, so her weight didn’t press down on him, to which Bucky responded by flipping them over, so he could be on top. The movement eliciting a laugh from Y/N, her fingers immediately weaving through his hair. Only when the pressing need for air became too much did they pull apart, their foreheads resting together. There was a giant smile on Bucky’s face. “I know I sorta skipped a few steps here, but would you like to go out on a date with me?” “Yes, of course,” Y/N laughed, stroking his cheek with one hand while gently scraping the back of his neck with the other, “If you didn’t I’d be real upset with you. Especially after this kind of a make out.” His head dropped to the crook of her neck, the body shaking with laughter. It was bliss. Pure bliss. “I’ve had the biggest crush on you too,” Bucky mumbled into Y/N’s skin, the lips fluttering over her collarbones. This time it was Y/N who laughed. “I mean, I would hope so. Otherwise, it’d be very awkward, given where your hands have been,” a mischievous smirk adorned her face making Bucky blush, but before he could do anything, she reconnected their lips, her tongue invading his mouth once again. They spent hours like that- their bodies tangled together, arms around one another and kisses only interrupted by the occasional giggle from one or the other. They watched the sun rise above the never sleeping city, Bucky feeling more alive than ever, despite the sleepless night. And now, almost half a year into their relationship, she still made him feel like a boy who couldn’t wrap his mind around how the hottest girl in the school could like him back like that. “Soldier?” she cooed, her own brows furrowed up in concern, Bucky’s attention snapping back into the moment. “Hey, there Sarge. You spaced out on me.” “Sorry,” he mumbled moving to kiss her collarbone and allowing himself to breathe in her scent. She smelled of lavender and rosemary and something else that was just Y/N. “ ‘Was thinkin’.” “About what?” her fingers scraped his skull, eliciting a satisfied groan. “How I don’t want you to leave. How I don’t want you to go alone.” “Buck, you know I’ll come back. And besides, Nat and Clint are coming with me, so I won’t be on my own.” He hated it. Hated the times when either had to go on a solo mission or just a mission where the other party wasn’t with. “Yeah, but you’re going without me…” “It’s only a week.” “A week too long…” he mumbled pressing a kiss now right under her ear, right next to the sweet spot. The morning sun was slowly rising over the skyscrapers, windows glinting in orange, yellow and pink colours. Y/N moved a long brown strand away from his face and pecked his lips. “Come, let’s go eat. I’m starving and we still have time to relax a bit before I have to go.” “Don’t wanna,” he pressed his head back into her neck. She let out a mock gasp. “You don’t want food? You? The Bucky Barnes doesn’t want food?” He shook his head burying himself further into the girl’s chest. “Breakfast means we start the day, and if we do that you’re gonna leave.” Y/N’s body shook with laughter, while she pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “I’ll be back before you know it. And when I do, I expect to be greeted by a mountain of pancakes and waffles.” “Chocolate chip?” “Duh, I’m not a savage.”

It has now been two weeks and Bucky was going almost insane, baking pancakes every day with the hope Y/N would come home. Last time he’d received any sort of update was on day five when Clint had sent a simple morse code message that it would be a bit longer than expected. They needed to stay down low, so contact was kept to a minimum. By the middle of week three he had given up on baking, some of his teammates actually being happy about it. The amount of food that started to pile up was getting ridiculous, given the fact that their biggest eater Thor was back on Asgard and Steve was on this green-juice diet, Bucky himself having lost his appetite a while back. He was sitting in his room, the TV playing some film he wasn’t paying any attention to, eyes roaming over the New York city skyline. He hadn’t left the tower in almost a week now, ditching Steve’s pleas to go on a run with him and snapping at everyone left and right. The nightmares had also come back full swing. After he and Y/N started dating, they subsided, becoming less and less prominent with every day until they actually disappeared. To somehow make them not as bad while she was away, he’d even gone into Y/N’s room and taken one of her T-Shirts. Though at this point in their relationship her attire mainly consisted of Bucky’s own clothes. At first, the scent had started to disappear from her pillow, the smell slowly fading into nothing. So he draped her tank-top over the pillow but again, after a few days it was like she had never been there. In his shower he kept Y/N’s shampoo bottle open so his nose would inhale the scent, the same way he always loved to burrow his head into her hair, the notion calming him down, reminding that she was there with him. Now he had basically taken every piece of clothing that was in Y/N’s closet and brought to his room. But still, it didn’t seem to comfort him, not the way Y/N’s presence always did. With a deep groan, he got up from the mountain of covers he had burrowed himself in and went up to the kitchen. The worst part was the not knowing. Was she alright? Did everything go according to plan? Was she sleeping? Was she eating? The constant nagging inside his head made everything a bit worse. His bare feet padded over the cold tile floors making no sound whatsoever, the living room coming into view as well as the adjoined kitchen. Grabbing his favourite mug with the words ‘everybody knows someone called James and he is usually a fucking legend’, courtesy of Y/N on his birthday, Bucky brewed himself a strong cup of coffee, knowing fairly well he wouldn’t go back to sleep. Rather he’d go to the control room and wait for any updates. But the minute he was by the staircase, the sound of two voices talking and a male groaning and arguing back invaded his senses. Immediately he went to where the words were coming from. And there she was- battered, bruised and clearly tired, but in one piece. Which he couldn’t really say about Clint. “For fucks, sake, help us out here a bit and carry your own weight,” Nat muttered to the man. “Well if you had gotten shot in the leg, you’d realise how painful it is.” “I know, because I did,” Y/N rebuffed, holding her own side with the other palm. “Yet I don’t act like a little bitc-“ She didn’t get the chance to finish the sentence as two strong arms, one made of flesh, one made of metal, scooped her up and pressed the smaller body into Bucky’s larger, more muscular one. “Buck- can’t- breathe-“ “Don’t care. I’m not letting you go. Not now, not ever.” Without a word to the pair left in the common room, he carried the girl to his room, while Nat protested that she needed someone to help and get Clint to the med-bay, otherwise all his bitching would drive her insane. “Some friend you are,” Clint muttered at the redhead. “Oh shut it, arrow boy.” That was the last thing Y/N heard from them as Bucky had quickly made his way down to their level, throwing his door open and as much as he just wanted to throw Y/N on the bed and ravish her body for the remainder of the night and the rest of the upcoming day, he went into his bathroom and gently placed her down, the heels of her combat boots making a soft click. “How bad are you hurt?” his blue eyes scanned over every inch of her body, looking for any sign that she was gravely injured. “I’m fine, Buck, it’s just a scrape. A big one, but nothing that I can’t live through,” her fingers grasped his chin and before he could do anything her lips were on his, making his worries instantly melt away. “I’m okay,” she whispered, pulling back from the man, but still keeping their foreheads pressed together. “I know… I know…” the love Y/N saw shining in Bucky’s eyes made her almost pass out. “Come, let’s get you cleaned up.” Bit by bit he removed her tactical gear. First came the boots, Bucky being very careful as the stiletto heels weren’t a fashion statement. Not when with a tap against the floor vibranium spikes shot out, the edges razor sharp. Then he unbuckled her belt, her guns and knives and the remaining ammo clattering to the ground. Somehow all of that felt more intimate than the times when he had undressed the girl with lust clouding his mind. Unzipping her suit, Y/N elicited a painful hiss. “ ‘M sorry, doll.” “It’s okay. Was my fault,” she pointed to the now bluish-purple side, her upper half of the body left in only a bulletproof sports bra. “Took a hit for Nat.” Bucky only nodded his metal hand gliding over a bruise, causing a surprising moan to come from Y/N. His eyebrows shot up in question.” “ ’S cold. Feels good.” He didn’t dare add any pressure on it, but he left the vibranium arm on her side as he helped the girl remove the pants part of the suit and now she was just left in her underwear. There was dirt and grime covering almost every inch of her body as well as smaller cuts and bruises, but Bucky couldn’t find anything that he should be worried about. Taking off his left arm from her side he went to the shower and turned it on, putting the setting to warm this time. They rarely took showers together, Y/N preferring for the water to be, as he called it ‘hot as the fucking Hell itself’. But he knew that it would be too painful for her to stand under a stream like that, so removing his own shirt, he made sure it was on the verge of being just the way Y/N liked it, but wouldn’t cause additional harm. “Buck?” “Yeah, doll?” “Why the hell is my whole closet in your room right now?” He turned back to see Y/N now braless, a smirk etching its way onto her face. Bucky raked a hand through his hair and went to hug the girl from behind, pressing a kiss to her neck. “I missed you and your smell was fading.” “So you just decided to move my stuff to your room?” “I’ll take it back, I promise… just needed to feel like you were here.” In all honesty, he didn’t want to go and replace anything. He’d wanted Y/N to move in his room since day one, and given how they were the only two on the floor, they were sorta living together, but he hadn’t gathered up the courage to ask the question yet. “It’s okay. I kinda like seeing it all here. Besides, I do practically live in your room most times, so this isn’t that strange.” “It isn’t?” “Buck, I sleep in your shirts every night. I parade around in them as if they were our clothes, not your.” “They look good on you,” he mumbled into her skin, a shy smile blooming onto his lips. Y/N chuckled, a hand going up to weave through his hair. “Thank you, but that is not my point. My point is that whenever you go away on a solo mission or whenever I don’t get to see you for what is longer than a day, I always carry around something that smells like you. It’s…” “Comforting…” Bucky finished the sentence for the girl. Y/N spun around, his arms still remaining on her waist, the metal one cooling the hot skin of the bruise. “Yeah.” Bucky just wanted to stay there like that- with Y/N in his arms and the notion that she was back and safe unravelling the tension in his muscles. “Let’s get into that shower,” she mumbled into his chest. His only answer was a nod as his palm grasped hers and lead them to the running water. For a second Y/N let go of his hand, confusing Bucky but then he saw how the girl was struggling to remove her underwear, the pain of leaning over making tears slip down her cheeks. Immediately he was by her side and helped her out. There was nothing dirty about the situation, just a lover helping out his love, but still, a blush crept up on Y/N’s neck and cheeks. “Thank you, Buck.” Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he discarded his own sweatpants and boxers, stepping into the steaming shower after her. He pulled her close, letting the water cascade down them. It was quiet for a while, the two people relishing how it was to be held by their loved one. “So I’ve been meaning to ask this for a while now…” “Hmm?” “Would you wanna move in whit me?” He felt Y/N’s body shake with laughter, though Bucky really couldn’t understand why. Hurt flashed across his mind as maybe Y/N thought it was a ridiculous idea. “Well given how pretty much everything I own is already here, courtesy of yourself, I don’t really see an issue with that. I mean, less work for me, as I won’t have to carry back all of my clothes.” And suddenly warmth of what could only be described as pure happiness and love spread through his chest. The feeling being a confirmation of what he had known since the beginning- he was irrevocably in love with the girl and he’d never have it any other way.

Tags: @who-cares-rn @thunderous-flower @lumelgy

A/N: cute Bucky is cute :))

P.S. tell me what you think :)

P.S.S. please send in requests or if you wanna be tagged in future stories, drop a message

P.S.S.S. please don’t repost without credit :)

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ikesenmotonari · 7 years

Text

yay that ikesen oc thing. she’s a multifandom oc but hey im not creative so i might as well JAM her into another universe lets go lads

idk who to tag but if u have an ikesen oc go for it i wanna know bout em!!!

i was tagged by @nyktoon-ikemenlove thank you sweetheart!!!

Age? Height?

“Hi! I’m Melody Wyverne, but my friends if I had any would call me Mel, Mells… that fun stuff! I’m nineteen and I’m five foot two!”

She’s petite, on the curvy side. She’s 5′2″, or 155 cm; she is only nineteen and wants to go home. lmao

What’s your fashion like? [Time travelers – pre & post-wormhole!]

“Er, pre time-jump I was a fan of sleeveless hoodies and high-waisted jeans. I didn’t go out much, so I dressed comfortably. Now I wear kimono and hakama… it’s pretty. I sure hope it didn’t trouble people too much to make these…!“

The top one is an older doodle. thonk emojis

Where are you from?

“I’m from Canada, actually. I lived alone for a bit then my dad reached out to me and asked me if I’d like to spend some time with him in Japan. So uh, I just wanted to talk to him again and thought this would be a good way for me to intern somewhere… it might as well be his business right? Then the storm thing.“

Her mom is French, her dad is English. She’s got a ridiculously high IQ level and no social skills whatsoever, so she knows most Japanese and speaks it pretty okay despite her North American kind of accent. Is that a thing? thonks

Feudal era – pros and/ or cons?

“There are pros?!“ She’s not very happy being surrounded by blood and death…

Pros? Cool clothes. Cons? HAVE YOU MET THESE PEOPLE?!

If you’re not in your homeland/time, do you want to go home?

“Gosh. Absolutely.“

What’s your home life like?

“Well, I’ll run you through a usual day! Ah… well, I’d eat something, then play with my cat, talk to Avery for a bit, then… yeah I’d spend the rest of it at the garage, just working on my projects! It’s… I like working. It’s not healthy, and I’ve been told… but it’s nice, you know?“

Melody doesn’t go outside.

She scarcely leaves her property and the only close friends she has is a cat and a cyborg (a man with no arms). Her parents split years ago and she wasn’t properly socialized as a kid. Being raised as a certified genius? It’s… lonely. She doesn’t know how it’s affected her, but being thrown back in time is forcing her to look at things differently.

You just got your dream job! What is it? / Or, what’s your line of work?

“I’m a programmer on the side, but first and foremost, I make prosthesis for people. I have a background in medicine and engineering I suppose…”

Any other hobbies or skills? Do you use them / how do you use them in the Sengoku period?

“Not really… I can barely take care of myself as is, haha! Erm. I can’t use my skills much at all in this era. Other than some simple automatons, there’s also guns I can piece apart, but I’m more hesitant with those… all I can do is use my expertise in biology I guess. There’s a lot of injuries going around, and I’m glad I’m not completely useless.“

Where is your base of operations? Azuchi Castle? Kasugayama Castle? A pirate ship? Running all over the woods or in a secret monastery? Some other cool place?

“I woke up in a forest near Azuchi and stayed in a neutral tea house for a while before Lord Masamune pretty much dragged me to the castle. So I stayed there for a few months, and the warlords grew on me, but… I… got kidnapped. So I guess my base of operations is a pirate ship.”

Oh?

“…I don’t like it. Don’t get me started on their captain…”

How do you feel about killing and violence?

“I just wish there’s another way past it all. I don’t think I’ll ever understand the logic behind killing someone. I… I’m a doctor. Not a murderer.”

Have you learned to fight? If so, what’s your weapon and/or fighting style of choice?

“Nope, actually. But there’s some good guys on board that might be willing to teach me! At least, I hope so. The only thing I’m leaning towards are guns, unfortunately, but they’re the closest thing to a modern mechanism I can get. Eep… I don’t know how to fight! I don’t want to!”

What are you fighting for?

“Um, my life?!“ It changes. Eventually. ;3

What are your feelings about authority?

“As long as they’re not bullies? Fine.” She pauses. “Lord Nobunaga was different though. I didn’t understand him fully, but he doesn’t really make fun of me or anything. He’s just curious I guess. I don’t tend to question authority unlike some pirates.”

How do you handle someone invading your personal space?

“I just get really uncomfortable and back away if I can. I can’t bring myself to yell at people unless they��ve seriously whittled down on my patience. I didn’t know I had it in me, actually… huh.“

…do you invade people’s personal space?

“Ha…. haha! Yeah, sometimes. I get nosy okay? I didn’t even know what personal space was until I was eleven!”

Are you more open, or more reserved? Are you secretive?

“Avery says I’m an open book. I have nothing to hide, no secrets to keep. There’s not much that happened to me before, so I guess I’m some kind of blank slate? Gee, that sounds so harsh…”

Is this the first time you’ve been truly in love?

“Love? Have you spoken to these people?”

Eventually? Yeah. Yeah this is her first time.

What’s your style as a lover? (interpret this as innocently or not-innocently as you please ;) )

She’s sweet, affectionate and balanced. She knows when to handle time with her partner and time working on whatever independent activities. Though she’s quite a dense person overall and won’t realize if she’s even fallen for someone, she deeply and wholeheartedly trusts them. It takes a while for her to know this.

Also, she’s 99% submissive and slightly masochistic. As well as a rope bunny.

What are your favorite ways for someone to show you love?

Touches, fleeting ones. Tight hugs, any kind of embrace. Show her something unconditional, undivided. She’s been isolated for so long she convinced herself she won’t have someone to love, so she carries on merrily alone, not knowing how deprived she is of human contact. Hmm.

Take her on an adventure. Bring her out of her comfort zone. Show her what the world could be like… you’ll change her.

Do you use a petname or endearments for your lover(s)?

Not really, she would give nicknames if she could! She already says things like ‘honey’ and ‘dear’, but nothing too mushy unless it becomes super playful and joking.

How do you feel about…

Nobunaga? “He’s such a complicated warlord… I don’t know if I’ll ever understand him. But he’s shown some really keen interest in me. Is it because I’m a Westerner? Either way, Lord Nobunaga scared me and he still does. But after spending months in the castle and talking to him, he’s not actually as mean as I thought he was. I don’t know why he laughs at me though! I guess the things I do seem really silly to him!”

Hideyoshi? “Oh he’s super nice. He taught me how to make tea when mister Mitsunari and I put way too much leaves in. He tends to scold me for staying up though, but I can’t help my insomnia without my pills! It’s really comforting to know that Lord Hideyoshi is looking out for me though. The things he does reminds me of how Avery takes care of me, so I guess he’s like a big brother? Heehee.”

Masamune? “He was the one who brought me to Azuchi castle, and boy is he wild! His energy shocked me honestly, it’s like he never runs out of it. He’s so cool though! He kinda scared me too, and I’m pretty sure he can stab me once told to, but he’s been really playful. I didn’t know I’d have so much fun in Azuchi thanks to him. And he makes amazing food! Though he should stop bugging me to eat three meals a day…”

Ieyasu? “Aw man, I wish I can talk to him without him speedwalking away or trying to avoid me! He’s reading stuff about medicine, right? I’d like to know what he’s learning. It’s no doubt super different from modern medicine. I try to talk to him sometimes but Lord Ieyasu’s always busy… was it something I said?”

You know that question about invading personal space? Melody leans in to peer over at his books sometimes. She’s a bit too friendly to his liking.

Mitsunari? “I relate to him a lot. He’s really friendly and sometimes I’d spend my free time reading with him. Time goes by so fast though and either Lord Hideyoshi or Lord Ieyasu would step in to tell us we’ve missed dinner…”

Literally. They are so alike. They got along swell.

Mitsuhide? “S-Scary… have you heard of those rumors about him? I mean, in person he’s okay, but he’s just tall and intimidating to me. He did take me out to the marketplace once and show me around, which… well, nevermind. I guess he’s nice. Apparently Lord Hideyoshi told him to stop teasing me, but I don’t recall being teased?”

She’s dense.

Shingen? “Big man. Very tall, and… I think he was flirting with me. Whatever it was, he’s… really.. erm, polite and all, and I met him along with Yukimura and Sasuke at the forest tea house before I was taken to Azuchi. I don’t know him too well, but with what Lord Nobunaga told me, he must be a strong warlord…”

Kenshin? “I never met the guy. With a title like the ‘God of War’, I don’t think I want to…!” Fear.

Yukimura? “He’s… he’s kind of… what’s the word, gruff, isn’t he? I met him along with Shingen and I guess it’s a good quality to be honest and stuff. I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

She spilled tea on him. You can imagine the rest. Sasuke came in clutch.

Sasuke? “He’s super great. I wish I had more time to talk to him! He kinda saw right through my attempt to hide the fact that I’m from the future and he gave me helpful advice on fitting in and staying under the radar. Eep, sorry I got dragged to the castle, Sasuke! We can talk about astrophysics another time…! Seriously, I’m so grateful to him. Without his advice I’d probably be in big trouble.”

Kennyo? “He went near the tea house once and was feeding the fish in the koi pond. He’s scary, but… he’s nice. I served him tea and some dumplings. I had no idea he hated Lord Nobunaga so much…”

Motonari? “Ugh… infuriating. I didn’t know I could be so angry at someone before I met this guy. The nerve he has, to kidnap me in broad daylight, spit on Azuchi defenses, and then use me as his impromptu surgeon for the high seas! Hmph. … I… I don’t know. The more time I spend with him, I feel like I’m not going anywhere - you know, I try to get along, I really do, but I think he’s keeping me away? Like, he just tends to stay shallow with people. As annoying as he can get… I want to know why. He’s shown how playful he could be, and his crew loves him. He gives me the same vibes as Lord Nobunaga, actually… intimidating, but I want to know more about him.”

Any other friends/notables?

“I have a friend named Avery and he’s awesome! He took care of me ever since I was eleven, he was twenty-one at the time and now he’s thirty. He’s like a dad to me. Oh, and this isn’t too important, but he has metal arms. I made those! Er, the updated ones, actually. Just to make sure they’re functioning like real arms and all. The prototypes were made by my mom and he was severely injured, so the surgery took a while. He and I grew really close after my parents’ divorce. He lives a few blocks down, and he has eight dogs. Don’t ask ME why, you should ask HIM. … I miss him. I hope he’s okay.”

She also has a cat named Charlie. He’s a grey ragdoll. That’s… that’s about it.

hooray for my shallow motonari headcanons with trust issues

#oof #ikesen oc #my art

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joaquinwhorres · 7 years

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Insomnia

Imagine: Imagine you have insomnia, and Steve keeps you company by watching the movies he missed while under the ice.

Warnings: None. It's mostly fluff! A little bit of a “dark past” and guilt, but Steve’s there to save the day.

Author’s Note: Just a little fluff for Captain America's birthday. I'm hoping to post a couple more Steve imagines tomorrow when I have more time.

You couldn't sleep.

Again.

You could never sleep, though. It was your burden to bear. Although, it did also give you a bit of a leg up. If you didn't need to sleep, then you didn't need to stop studying and working. It's what pushed you to the top of your class in college. It’s what made you the best in your field with your job before the Avengers. It's what landed you the job here at the Avengers Compound: the Land of Insomniacs.

Here, your insomnia was just par for the course. It gave no advantage, but it also did less damage. No professors breathed down your neck to get to bed earlier. No friends gave you a hard time about how you always missed breakfast. You were, for all intents and purposes, just one of the guys.

Tony was always working in his lab late into the night--especially now that Pepper was gone.

Bucky stayed awake in his room as long as he could, staring at the ceiling and hoping sleep never came.

Pietro was having sexy time with whatever girl was available that night.

Vision literally didn't need sleep, and often Wanda (complaining about Pietro's loudness) would stay up to keep him company.

Sam was constantly out until the early hours of the night or staying up late to watch bad TV.

And yet, nobody ever wandered their way to the living room. No one except for Steve.

Steve was one of the few who could sleep. Him and Clint and Nat. The people used to sleeping with what they've been forced to do just to stay alive and make the world marginally better.

But sometimes, Bucky would go into Steve's room, and when he finally left, Steve couldn't go back to sleep. This was in the early hours of the morning. The three, three-thirty range. Only a few hours before the first agents would be getting up to train. Tony was passed out at the bench. Pietro finally had warn himself out. Vision would just be meditating, Wanda asleep where she sat or back in her room. Sam had usually snuck in and gone to bed by now too.

So, it was just you. Awake because you didn't trust sleep. You heard every little sound. Every door creak. Every foot step. Your ghosts coming for you.

You curled into the corner of the couch, feet tucked under you and hand clutching the remote. Robot Chicken sketches passed across the TV.

"What is this?" a deep voice chuckled, and your head snapped up to look at Steve. His hair was still tousled slightly from when he had been asleep, and he wore only a fitting grey t-shirt and navy sweatpants. You smiled up at him, seeing his own lips quirked in amusement.

"America's finest late night television," you informed, pulling your knees up to your chest, as if to make room. Steve moved around to sit in the middle of the couch and watched in silence. Whenever you snorted at a joke, he looked over at you. You did your best not to notice.

To his credit, Steve lasted to the first commercial break.

"I don't get it," Steve commented.

"You kind of had to not be in ice for 70 years," you shrugged, matter-of-factly. Steve smiled and hung his head.

"Want me to find a movie you know?" you asked. You already knew what he'd say. It was the same thing he said whenever the two of you were up late together.

"Show me something good I missed."

"You got it," you assented, mentally running through the list of what you'd already shown him. You'd slowly been making your way through the Brat Pack movies, chronologically of course. "Have you seen The Breakfast Club, yet?" you asked, already flicking through Tony's uploaded movie library.

"The Breakfast Club?" he scrunched his face.

"You'll love it--" you paused, looking hard at him for a second. "Well, you'll like it. It's a true classic, just like you," you poked, pressing play.

For the most part, your assessment was correct. While Steve showed the expected zero amounts of sympathy for the high school delinquents in the first fifteen minutes, pretty soon he was laughing along with you as Andy helped move the bookshelf in and out of the door. He enjoyed Bender's assessments of their lunches, although he tried to hide it. He didn't even ask you to pause the movie until after the confession circle.

Steve looked over at you, the question obvious on his face, but he took the time to say it, as if he knew that he might be asking a bit too much. After all, you were just colleagues for the most part. Although, even that was a bit of a stretch. You worked PR for the Avengers, because lord knows they needed it. You lived with them on the compound to get ahead of the scandals but aside from basic self-defense training, you were just some girl.

"How come you don't sleep?" Steve asked.

You breathed in and then out slowly. This was an easy enough question to pass off. "I have a hard time getting to sleep and a worse time staying asleep. I wake up over everything," you shrugged. Even though the lie was an easy one, you could still feel your chest getting tight with anxiety. If there was anyone you'd want to tell, it'd be Steve. But you knew he'd just want to fix you the same way he wanted to fix Bucky. So, you kept it to yourself.

"Everything?"

"Everything. It's why I had to switch rooms away from Pietro, he goes for hours," you widened your eyes meaningfully.

Steve flushed but kept his eyes locked on you. "That's all?"

You couldn't look away from his eyes. It was unnerving the way he pulled the truth out of you, just by asking a simple question and looking at you just like that. Like he trusted you'd give him an honest answer. All these years working with SHIELD and the Avengers and he still believed in honesty. It was endearing in the same way a baby bird with a broken wing was. If you had had that talent back then—actually, you did have that talent. You were successful. And that was the problem.

"Y/N?" Steve asked quietly, and you realized you'd been quiet for too long. "What is it?"

"You know what I did before I came here, right?" The words came out as a whisper, and you hated yourself for it.

"You were in politics, right?" Steve asked.

You chuckled lowly and hung your head, shaking it. "I was a political fixer."

"A what?" Steve asked.

You paused, opening your mouth to answer and then closing it before starting again. "You know all of the things you hate about the government?" You asked. "The corruption, and the lies, and the witch hunts?" Steve nodded. "That was my job. To create those things. To spread the panic and outrage."

Steve grew quiet, his eyes scanning your face. Your own eyes saw past him, into the darkness of the living room as you remembered the faces of those people whose lives you had ruined. The scapegoats. The honest women you'd turned into liars. The innocent men you turned into criminals. You remembered every face, every name, every lie. And they kept you up at night. When Steve didn't come down to watch old movies with you, they were the company you kept in Avengers tower.

"It was bad, huh?" Steve said, looking at your shining eyes.

"I…I don't want to talk about it," you stuttered out, looking away from him and towards the movie screen. "I don't want to remember it."

"I'm sorry I asked," Steve whispered.

"Don't be," you cleared your throat, and spoke with a stronger voice. "It's fine. It's over. I came out alive. I just--don't sleep. And you know, I've pretty much always been a night owl. So it's--" your voice cracked, betraying you.

Steve lifted his arm, placing it around your shoulders. "C'mere," he said kindly, pulling you closer into him. You acquiesced despite your dueling emotions--your eyes stinging from your ghosts and your heart pounding from Steve's close proximity.

"You're here now, and that's what matters," Steve said, his chest rumbling. It felt oddly soothing. Ok, maybe it wasn't that odd. Steve was always good at calming you. That's why the Avengers generally threw him at you to help manage whatever crisis they had caused. His hand gently stroked your arm as he held you. "You know, you can always talk about it with me, right?"

You nodded, "Yeah. Just, not now." He nodded as well, silence slowly creeping in.

"Do you want to hit play?" Steve asked after a minute. You had almost forgotten about the movie and shifted out of his arm to grab the remote and restart it. You expected Steve to return to his original movie watching position, but he didn't. Instead, he leaned against the opposite armrest, and pulled you down with him, so the two of you lay side by side on the couch, Steve's arm wrapped protectively around you. Your cheeks grew warm as you watched the rest of the movie.

It wasn't until Allison's makeover that you spoke again. "What do you think of me, Rogers?" you asked, flipping on the couch to face him. Steve looked down at you with not a little surprise. "Do you like me? Do you think I'm funny? Are you glad I'm here? Are you confused why they let me in and not people like, I don't know Sharon?"

"You're…great," Steve said awkwardly.

"Except when I ask all these questions?" you asked, looking down at his chest and away from his eyes. You weren't sure you could stand to find the truth there.

"Yeah," he breathed. "I mean--no! You're always great, but you do ask a lot of questions, and it's late, and…"

"I get it," you said, shaking your head. "It was a weird question to ask, and I'm just tired."

"No," Steve protested. "That's not it."

"It's fine," you looked up at him, meeting his gaze with a forced smile. "Really."

A small, soft smile, turned up the corner of Steve's lips. "You really want to know, don't you?"

"I guess I'm hoping that I'm as transformed as Allison," you admitted, looking back down at Steve's chest. And that you're maybe a little bit like Andy.

"I think you're amazing. At your job. As a person. I'm happy you're here," Steve stated, firmly. You weren't sure why you wished his response had been different. The words were objectively comforting, but still, you had wished…"And watching these movies with you has been the highlight of my year. Maybe even of my time out of the ice."

Your eyes flicked up to Steve's, and he looked back down at you with nothing but that deep blue honesty.

"Really?" you whispered. He nodded.

"And I know it's, what--3:30 in the morning, and maybe this probably isn't a good idea--"

"That sounds like my kind of idea," you smiled. He smiled back and left the rest of his sentence as his head tilted down so he could press his lips to yours. It was slow, soft, and gentle. As if Steve all he wanted to do was hold you in his arms and kiss you for the rest of the night--chasing away your ghosts and making sure you knew just how thankful he was that you were here. And, you mentally noted, as your hands slid up to rest on Steve's chest, your insomnia gave him all of the time he needed to do just that.

#steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve x reader #marvel imagine #avengers imagine #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #steve rogers fanfiction #saoirse

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masked-fox-creations · 7 years

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When The Strangers Blew In, Ch. 17

Oh boy is this late, whoops. I just did not get it up last week, and this weekend I was too busy between family and power outages. But I definitely wanted to get this one out asap.

Summary: Stanford and Stanley Pines dream of a different life. One where they’re not just tidying their pa’s shop or helping ma take care of the baby. Where they can live freely as the men they know they are, instead of pa hounding them to marry before they become spinsters. They get a taste of that possibility when two strangers blow into town, but with them comes a heap of trouble.

Pairings: Rick/Stan (stanchez); Fiddleford/Stanford (fiddauthor)

Warnings for this chapter: Besides some mild alcohol consumption there’s not much to warn about here. Oh, a bit of blood.

ao3 link

Chapter 17— This Here Cliff Looks Mighty Steep

Stanley’s back throbbed in rhythm with his thighs. The soles of his bare feet ached. His body was exhausted and if they didn’t stop soon he’d probably fall off Chestnut. Fiddleford didn’t look any better. Sparing his companion a glance he saw the fatigue plain on Fiddleford’s face and how his hair was plastered to it by sweat.

They had been riding nonstop for a long time—too long. It was night now and the moon hung above them helpfully lighting their way. Sheriff Powers had followed the other two, and they hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Filbrick for a while now. While he had never been as fast a rider as the twins, Filbrick was hellbent on getting his hands on them. Would it damn them to stop for a much needed rest? They needed to risk it either way or they were good as dead regardless.

There was no ideal place to stop, but at least they were covered on one side by a hill and they could see anyone approaching for miles. They gratefully dismounted and stretched out their sore muscles.

“I’m aching more than an antelope during mating season.”

“You’re a weird guy, Fiddlesticks,” Stanley said, shaking his head fondly.

After finally putting his shoes back on he started tending to Chestnut and Fiddleford did the same for his horse. They had held their own pretty well and Stanley vowed to reward them with their favorite treats as soon as they reached town.

Fiddleford had also held his own, and Stanley couldn’t help being surprised at how sturdy that beanpole kept proving to be.

“You know, I can understand what Sixer sees in you,” he commented offhandedly.

“You do? What, uh, does he see in me?”

Stanley chuckled. “A hell of a lot. That’s why he was so torn up when you disappeared.”

“Oh.”

The other man fell silent. Stanley could sense his warring emotions. A bitter part of him was glad Fiddleford seemed to feel at least a bit guilty. Mostly though he was just tired. And truth be told he did pity the pair for what they had been through. But that really didn’t erase his spite.

“Yup. Well, we should try and get some sleep while we can. You hit the hay and I’ll wake ya in an hour.”

Stanley sat down, back against the hill, and draped a blanket over himself. A moment later Fiddleford joined him. He was biting his lip and looked like he had something to say.

“What’s on your mind, Fiddle Dee Dee?”

“I just wanted to say that maybe it doesn’t seem like it, but we had ta leave! We were backed into a corner.”

“Listen, I ain’t gonna fault either of you for looking after yourselves, but don’t you dare act like it was your only option.” Fiddleford started to talk and Stanley cut him off. “And definitely don’t you act like this was all to protect us.”

Stanley tipped his hat in such a way that it obscured most of Fiddleford but he could still look out across the desert. Wind whistled through the hills. Fiddleford’s leg bounced.

“You weren’t the only ones backed into a corner, ya know,” Stanley very nearly whispered.

Just as softly Fiddleford said, “I…I’m glad you boys have each other. And I’m sorry. We could have left ya a note or something.”

“At the very least. Or, ya know, actually talked to us.” He could have been harsher, and part of him wanted to be, but maybe it was exhaustion that lessened his bite.

Fiddleford sighed heavily, and Stanley could feel the weight he was carrying around. Probably been carrying since that night he left his childhood home behind, only adding new guilts as they went along.

“I really do want you to know I care about you fellas an awful lot. Rick does too. And, well, maybe we were mainly looking after ourselves, but we want you boys to be safe, too. And I mean that.”

“I’m sure you do, Fidds. But ya gotta admit that you went about it in a shit way.”

Fiddleford sighed again; Stanley felt his weight grow.

After a moment of silence that hung tensely around them Fiddleford said, “I’ve done so many things, Stanley, wrong things. Made so many mistakes. Sometimes I tinker around with the thought of this invention I cooked up one night. It erases memories—any ones you want! So if’n I wished to I could just forget all these things I’ve done.”

“Fiddleford?”

“Stanley?”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. For a genius, I can’t understand how any of that sounds like a good idea to you. Now get some sleep.”

Fiddleford chuckled. “Yessir, Stanley.”

“Pleasant dreams, Fiddlesticks,” he wished as the other man wrapped his blanket tight around him and closed his eyes.

Stanley gazed out into the darkness and wondered how his brother was doing. And Rick.

——

If nothing else, Rick and he shared a natural cynicism for when things seemed to be going too well. For Stanford he was sure it was due to years of living with the volatile Filbrick; who knew why Rick was this way. Their adventure so far had just strengthened their paranoia. Every moment of peace always seemed to have something dark lurking at its heels. What would it be this time?

For a good long while Powers had been hot on their tail. Then he had started falling behind. Eventually the pair lost sight of him completely. It should have been a blessing, but of course it meant they didn’t know where he was now. He could be watching from afar, or maybe hidden just on the other side of a hill. For that matter, perhaps Bud and Preston were waiting somewhere to ambush them.

And what of the others? Had Filbrick caught up to them? Did he have someone else with him, ready to shoot Fiddleford dead and do who-knew-what to his brother? What would Filbrick do if he only caught one of them? Perhaps his temper would flair—Stanley was good at igniting his ire—and he’d take it all out on Stanley.

Stanford was clutching Astra’s reigns so hard he felt his knuckles were on fire. He took a deep breath and forced his hands and brain both to relax. No matter what was happening to the others there was nothing he could do. He had to trust they’d be fine.

It was easier said than done.

“There,” Rick said, jolting Stanford out of his own head. He turned to the man he hadn’t even realized had saddled up next to him. He was pointing up ahead; there was a small cave opening.

They made their way over to it and, after popping their heads in to discover it unoccupied, entered. Due to the moon’s angle the cave was partially illuminated. It didn’t seem to go in too deep, but they staid close to the mouth regardless.

It was a relief to stop riding. Stanford had been so absorbed with worry he hadn’t realized quite how worn he was. Now that there was no adrenaline carrying him his body swayed dangerously. His insomnia last night had done Stanford no favors.

He lowered gratefully to the ground, leaning back against the rock wall. In here they were sheltered from the brunt of the wind, and as such it was merely cool as opposed to freezing. In fact, it was quite pleasant.

Stanford glanced over at his companion who stood at the cave opening, appearing deep in thought. Rick was peering out across the desert, though Stanford suspected he wasn’t really seeing outside of whatever was playing in his mind. Stanford felt a sudden and intense urge to break the silence surrounding them. He had nothing to say, though.

As if sensing this, Rick told him, “Get some sleep, Stanford. I’ll keep a lookout.”

Stanford nodded and tried to get comfortable. It was no easy task. In the end he staid sitting up against a relatively smooth spot on the wall.

Sleep didn't’ come quickly, but it did come eventually. It didn’t stay for long.

The moon had lowered in the sky but the sun wasn't quite ready to rise when his eyes opened again. Rick was still at the mouth of the cave, though now he was sitting and leisurely sipping from his flask. For a few minutes Stanford simply watched him. He seemed pensive, most likely worrying about the other two. Rick startled when Stanford softly called his name.

“Fuck! You should still be asleep.”

“I usually wake every few hours. Then it’s difficult for me to return to sleep, so I’ll take over lookout duty.”

“Nah,” Rick declined, capping his flask. “We might as well start moving again.”

“Shouldn’t you get some rest?”

“Eh, this isn’t the first time I’ve ridden w-while tired.” He stood and stretched. “Besides, it’ll be better to stay ahead of your sheriff and exes.”

“Never call them that again or I will shoot you. Though I can see your point.”

Stanford got to his feet and followed Rick to their horses. After whispering a quick promise to Astra—she’d get to rest soon enough, and a special treat once they reached town—Stanford hopped up in the saddle. He watched Rick rummage through his bags.

“Hold on, my flask’s about half empty. Should feel it up while I’ve got the chance.”

Oh. It had slipped Stanford’s mind how he and Stanley had reorganized the other men’s bags. Several important changes suddenly came back to him.

“What the hell?” Rick said, bringing out Fiddleford’s snuff box. He quirked his brow at Stanford and snorted. “Cute.”

Stanford smiled innocently.

Rick tossed it at Stanford who shoved it in his own bag, and resumed his alcohol search. Stanford tried to school his expression. It proved a difficult task, especially when Rick went rigid.

Turning slowly to the other man Rick demanded, “Stanford, where’s the rest of my booze?”

His voice was surprisingly calmer than Stanford would have imagined, giving the circumstances. Stanford found it very difficult to stop the smile on his face.

“In Fiddleford’s bag.”

“What?”

“Well, we needed to divvy up the weight equally between horses.”

Rick sputtered incoherently for a second. When he managed to calm down just a fraction he asked, “Why wouldn’t you put it in my bag then?”

“There was no room.”

Rick narrowed his eyes. Without looking away from Stanford he mounted his horse. His simmering rage was apparent, and Stanford gave up on covering his mirth.

“Shall we?”

When the other man made no reply Stanford cheerfully started off.

They rode for several hours, not going quite as hard as before but certainly not trotting along at a leisurely pace. They spotted no signs of anyone, nor any indication anyone had been around those parts recently. Stanford wished that he could take comfort in that, yet worry and anticipation overruled.

The sun was high and bright when they stopped again. They took shelter from the heat beneath a few trees clustered close together. In minutes Rick was asleep. Stanford tried to keep his full attention on their surroundings, but soon his idleness was a distraction. He took the motor from his jacket; fiddling about with it helped to focus his thoughts.

Stanford brought out a few wires and other pieces he had admittedly taken from Fiddleford’s bag. As he tinkered about he kept an eye and ear out for anyone else.

Several hours passed without activity. Stanford was torn; either they were about to be ambushed or somehow had managed to shake off their pursuers. He hoped desperately for the latter but fully expected the former.

Eventually Rick woke on his own. His stomach grumbled loudly, and Stanford’s agreed with him. The other man searched through his bag, all the while complaining about his missing alcohol, and brought out some dried meat and cheese. Rick sat across from Stanford at a safe distance and tossed half of it at him.

“So I’m assuming we didn’t have any unwelcome visitors.”

Stanford shook his head as he bit into a piece of meat.

Further conversation fell to the wayside as they ravenously ate. Even when he was done Stanford was still hungry. They couldn’t deplete all their supplies, however, since they were still a few days ride from town. A bit of cheese and meat would have to do for now.

Stanford finished first and while Rick worked on his last bit of jerky he returned to tinkering. He was aware of the other man’s gaze on him. He expected Rick to inquire about what he was doing, or maybe come over and help. Instead he simply watched, not speaking up for what felt like nearly a half hour.

“So wh-what the hell is the bee in your bonnet lately, Stanford?”

Stanford spared the other man a brief glance before concentrating back on the wires.

“Do you mean my anger that two people whom I was foolish enough to trust abandoned my brother and I? Truly it’s a mystery.”

“I get your feelings were hurt.” Rick took a swig from his flask. “I’m talking about how overprotective you’ve been. More so than normal.” “Is it so strange to be protective of my brother?”

“Seems more than the usual amount is all I’m saying.”

“What do you want from me?” Stanford snapped, tossing the wires down. He glared at the other man. “I’m tired of seeing Stanley hurt.”

“That why you want to start over?”

Voice choked Stanford said, “Yes. He’s protected me so much, more than you will ever realize, Rick. Now I’m going to protect him.”

“By leaving your home.”

“Home is a funny word, Rick. Ma told us once that home isn’t where you live, but who you live with. For me, my home is my twin.” Stanford gave a rueful smile. “I think Stanley would like home to include you.”

Rick snorted, took another swig.

“What about you? Fiddleford a part of your home?”

“He’s part of yours. And I think, yes, I’d like him to be part of mine. Even if you have to be part of it, too.”

Rick laughed and passed the flask. Stanford hesitated just a split second before bringing it to his lips and tasting the tequila inside. It was an unfamiliar burn, he was much more used to whiskey, yet it was a welcome pain.

Handing the flask back Stanford looked Rick straight in the eye and calmly promised, “If anyone ever dares harm my brother again they’ll forfeit their own happiness. I will make sure they regret their choices for as long as they live. That includes you.”

If Rick had a reply Stanford would never know. At that moment the sound of riders reached them. They whipped around and saw three figures coming their way: Sheriff Powers, Bud, and Preston.

In an instant they were on their feet and running to their horses. One of the men called out for them but they couldn’t make out the words. Not that they had any intention to listen, regardless.

They rode hard in the opposite direction. Up ahead was a mountain range and getting caught by it would only spell disaster. It spanned a good distance, however, and with their pursuers closing in there was no other option. Thankfully Rick spotted a pass.

Just as they reached it, however, Rick suddenly tumbled off his horse.

Stanford feared he had been shot. He glanced back but no one had a gun pulled out. It was a small relief.

Next to the pass was a towering pile of fallen boulders. Stanford quickly hopped down, directing Astra behind them. Then he grabbed one of Rick’s guns, pointing it towards the other men. Powers reached for his pistol. Stanford let off a shot that sailed over his head, but stilled his hand nonetheless.

Stanford’s hand was shaking. He knew he wouldn’t get of any sort of accurate shot. He glanced at his companion.

“Get behind the boulders.”

Rick, who had sat up and was clutching the back of his head, looked around. Judging by the expression on his face he noticed that his horse had gone on without him.

Stanford let off another warning shot. In truth he had been aiming for Powers’ shoulder but once again had missed his mark.

“That’s close enough!” The men stopped about twenty feet away. “Hands where I can see them. Good. Now should you make any sudden moves you will find a bullet lodged somewhere quite unpleasant.”

“Leanne Pines, we’re here to rescue you and your sister,” the sheriff called out.

A laugh bubbled out of Stanford before he could crush it. The audacity of it all was just too much.

“Look at those horrid clothes they have you wearing,” Preston sniffed. “Just atrocious.”

“Lower the gun, dear, and let us help you,” Bud said. “We don’t blame you at all.”

“We know these vagabonds are behind all this. Come now, and let’s put all this behind us.”

Stanford rolled his eyes.

“Another word from either of you and you’ll both be swallowing lead.”

They seemed reluctant to listen but wisely shut their mouths. Stanford glanced again at his partner. Rick was still on the ground, one hand on the back of his head. He whistled at Stanford.

“Not doing half bad, Sixer. Find out which asshole threw a rock at me.”

“I told you to get behind those boulders.”

Stanford turned back to the men, making sure they weren’t about to do something stupid. Then he stared hard at Rick. For a second it seemed like he would protest, but finally Rick took cover.

“It’s a bit aggravating that no one ever listened to me or Stanley until we had a gun.” Now that Rick was out of their sight and immediate danger Stanford concentrated on the trio. Right now they were at a standstill. Stanford would shoot—and hopefully not miss again—should they try anything. Yet he could only shoot if he staid right there. The second they tried to escape the others would have ample opportunity to ready their own guns, and they would have the advantage since Rick and his backs would be to them.

There was another trail, this one leading up the mountain instead of straight. The rocks obscured it partially from the other men which would allow them a small head start. If they could just reach that they had a chance.

Stanford edged closer behind the rocks. There was a grim look on Rick’s face.

“Well this certainly isn’t the best scenario we could have found ourselves in. At least we have each other’s pleasant company,” Stanford joked. It felt hollow to his own hears, and didn’t lighten Rick’s expression.

Rick moved the hand from his head and Stanford saw the blood that slicked it. Not enough to be worried about in that moment, but certainly something to care for when they got the chance.

“I’ll hold them off, Rick told him, unholstering his second gun. “Get on Astra and get the hell out of here.”

“Rick, that is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard you say—which is impressive, considering all the nonsense you’ve spouted.”

“Damn it, Stanford, this isn’t the time for your sarcasm.”

“No, this is no time for your—”

Movement caught his eye and Stanford’s head snapped back to the other men: Powers was inching towards his pistol. With more instinct than though Stanford let off a shot that sailed right between the sheriff and Preston. He’d never seen the latter’s eyes so wide. Power’s hand went right back into the air.

“Congratulations, fellows, you’ve used up your last warning. And here I was trying to be generous.”

He edged even further into cover, now mostly shielded by the rocks but still able to see the men. He glanced at Rick again who seemed to be staring at Stanford with something like admiration in his eyes.

“Now Rick, are you ready to listen to my plan? We’ll have to be on the same page to get out of here safely.”

“G-goddamn it, Stanford, run and save yourself!” Rick snapped. The younger man just chuckled.

“Listen, Rick, my brother’s sweet on you. Meaning that even if I think you’re a pompous bastard who would be brilliant if you knew how to put down the bottle, I have to save you. For Stanley.”

Rick watched Stanford grab his arm and hoist him up.

“That, that’s no way to get ahead in this world, kid.”

“Well it’s a good thing we’re not planning to stay on this planet, huh?”

Rick smirked and shook his head. He opened his mouth yet closed it just as quickly and snickered.

“Y-you’re both stubborn, annoying bastards. What’s your plan?”

Stanford grinned and reached into the bag on Astra’s flank. Rick kept an eye, and gun, on the trio as he rummaged around for exactly what he needed.

“Your flask, please.”

“Oh, this should be good.”

Rick tossed him the flask, and Stanford doused the wooden gnome in tequila. He noticed the sad look on Rick’s face but chose not to comment. There would be time to tease him later. Next he opened Fiddleford’s snuff box and sprinkled a mixture of it and a few other herbs he had stashed in his monster studying equipment. They were something native to Gravity Falls and Stanford suspected nowhere else, and had magical properties especially when mixed like this.

“Alright, we’ll need to be ready to ride as soon as soon as I light this, because it will go up in flames quite quickly.”

Stanford mounted Astra and Rick hopped up behind him. Stanford eased them over just enough so he could see the other men. Rick twisted in the saddle with gun trained on them. Before they could react Stanford lit the the gnome on fire and tossed it at them. Instantly the gnome became a fireball. Flames rose high in the air and made a terrifying crackling sound that echoed across the land.

It took their pursuers a good few minutes to realize what was happening. Their horses were in a panic and they couldn’t seem to settle the beasts down. It was just enough of a head start to slip away.

Rick let out a whoop of disbelief and victory. Stanford laughed along with him.

#So should I apologize now for what happens next chapter or...?#trans bandito quartet au #stanchez #fiddauthor #Rick and Morty #Gravity Falls #fanfiction #Fox made this

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vowel-in-thug · 8 years

Note

Orange!verse is life and I don't know where we'd be without it tbh. Was unreasonably thrilled when you put Flint in a hole and Silver was *concerned*, would love to read something involving Silver waking up alone in the middle of the night and eventually finding Flint asleep by a tree after insomnia drove him to Go and Meditate outside. Pretty please?

Three things, anon: first, thank you so much for your kind words! I’m glad you enjoy these stories :))

Second, I’ve never written anything from Silver’s POV in the orange verse, before now.

Third, I’ve never actually written them fucking in this verse either, so.... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

oh and a fourth thing I only just realized, I didn’t read your prompt properly so this is only half of that, sorry! no one sleeps tonight.

Silver stretched out across the bed and only touched cooled sheets. He blinked in the darkness, disoriented, both surprised to learn he was alone and feeling an odd kind of familiarity that took him a moment to understand. Once again, he was in a position to know what it felt like to be Flint.

Except some mornings Silver would hover in the doorway where Flint couldn’t see him right away. He’d watch Flint roll over to Silver’s side of the bed, half-asleep, the pillow imprints creasing his warm, soft skin. He’d watch Flint breathe deeply, easily, lingering in a scent for a little longer, looking utterly content.

Silver didn’t feel anything close to contentment, waking up alone. His heart lurched as he sat up, looking around as his eyes adjusted to the night. Of course, Flint wasn’t anywhere in the tiny room. Of course Silver was completely by himself.

He told himself to just fucking relax, for once. Flint got up to take a piss. He got up for some water. He wasn’t gone. He’d left the room but he wouldn’t -- go.

But it was a mantra he had to tell himself daily: they were here, together. When Flint left to work out in the grove, or to make his deliveries, or just stepped out of the room for a moment, Silver had to remind himself that Flint would always be back.

It wasn’t that he was insecure with his standing with Flint, or that he was some sort of lovesick obsessive or something. He just never felt completely real unless Flint was looking at him, or touching him. Without that, he felt false and fleeting -- like a charlatan on good days and like mist on bad days, ready to disperse as soon as the day broke.

Flint would be right back, Silver told himself as he pulled his pants back on. He probably just left the room a second before Silver awoke, he reasoned as he grabbed his crutch from the wall and walked out into the main part of the house. There was no reason to hunt him down, he thought as he did just that.

The clock near the kitchen said it had just gone three in the morning. Silver was often up at this time. He used to pace the house up and down, mind blank and concentrating only on keeping himself silent as he moved, until the sun finally rose and he could get the tea started, and let a cat or three inside for company. But recently, he’d found himself in those early hours awake but still in bed, watching Flint’s dark shape until light streaked in through the window and gave him back form. He found himself fascinated by the way Flint became himself out of the dark every morning. And then he’d rise to get breakfast going, leaving Flint to those few minutes of early solitude.

He finally found Flint outside at the edge of his grove. The moon was almost full and the sky cloudless, so it seemed every tree stood out in sharp relief. Silver hated looking at stars now. He could only see navigations in their swirling chaos and nothing else, and looking at them too hard made his stomach turn like seasickness.

So he looked at Flint’s back instead, his long white shirt and his long white legs. His hair curling and disheveled around his ears. His hands lax by his side, fingers open and empty. The sight of Flint’s large hands in repose never failed to soothe Silver.

He didn’t ever sleep long enough to dream anymore, but it didn’t bother Silver. He’d only have nightmares if he ever did manage to sleep deep enough, and he had no need to bother with good dreams these days. Being able to see James Flint standing beneath an orange tree like this whenever he wanted was better than anything his broken mind could conjure. Dreaming seemed like a waste of time, now.

He approached Flint, not bothering to keep quiet, so Flint didn’t startle when Silver came up behind him and wrapped his free arm around his waist. Flint fell back against Silver with a small sigh, his head dropping down on Silver’s shoulder and a hand coming up to keep his arm in place.

“Bad dream again,” Flint said quietly. “For once I didn’t wake you, and I wanted to leave you to rest.”

Silver pressed a kiss to the side of Flint’s neck and said, “If el Castillo de San Marco is burning down again, you can let me rest. If you catch someone out here stealing your crop, you can let me rest. If you need me, you wake me up.”

Flint lifted his other hand to cup the back of Silver’s head. “If the fort was on fire, I wouldn’t have to wake you,” he said, “because you’d likely be the one responsible.”

Silver hummed in agreement, pressing his nose into the skin behind Flint’s ear. “And if you caught a thief out here, you wouldn’t need my help in doling out appropriate punishment.”

“I don’t like thieves,” Flint said.

Silver tightened his arm around him. “Liar,” he said.

He didn’t ask if Flint wanted to talk about his nightmare, because there was no answer Silver would want to hear or that Flint would want to give. They couldn’t protect each other from the horrors of their own heads, and the helplessness was as bad as their individual suffering.

So Silver just pulled away and stepped beside him, taking one of Flint’s hands in his. “Fancy a walk?”

It wasn’t easy, walking with a crutch and holding someone’s hand, and Silver honestly hadn’t much practice with it. But they were in no hurry, moving at random down the aisles of the grove, and their pace was slow. They were both half-dressed and shoeless, each step measured as they listened to the cicadas chirping loudly and the cats hunting a late night dinner. A light wind rustled the leaves together, the moonlight trickling through them like water through stone. Beneath the canopy, Silver couldn’t see the stars anymore.

“Bored yet?’ Flint asked finally. His calluses rubbed against Silver’s, his grip loose and dry.

“Bored? No. Lost? Most likely. I hope you’re paying attention to where we’re going.”

“No,” said Flint. He stopped walking, but he didn’t take his hand back. “I mean, here. This life. The routine of it, the simplicity. Me. You’re still relatively young, surely you --”

Silver cut him off by kissing his knuckles, holding his lips there until Flint finally looked at him. Then he let go, and walked himself backwards, also a difficult feat, until his back hit the rough bark of an orange tree. “We’re both of us old, Captain,” he said, holding his hand out. “But I only feel young when I’m with you.”

Flint wordlessly approached until he was right in front of Silver, and then moved even closer, pushing Silver further into the tree with a searing kiss.

Silver clutched at the back of Flint’s head, tilting him to deepen the kiss. He thrusted his bare chest against Flint’s, loving the way the soft cotton of Flint’s shirt felt against his hard nipples, but he knew he’d prefer the feel of Flint’s skin on his even more.

Silver pulled away from Flint’s mouth, leaning his head back onto a low branch, knowing Flint would immediately latch onto his neck. He groaned as Flint nipped at his adam’s apple, his stubble tickling at the hollow beneath his throat, and slid his leg between Flint’s.

“Have you ever thought,” Silver got out, clinging to Flint, “about fucking me out here in the orange grove?”

“No,” Flint lied, not lifting his head.

“Because you could right now,” Silver said, rubbing his thigh along Flint’s bare, hard cock. “If that was the kind of thing you’ve thought about before.”

Flint froze, teeth pressed into Silver. “You’re such an asshole,” he said finally, before stepping back and tearing his night shirt off. “You have --”

“Yes,” said Silver, reaching into his pocket to pull out a jar of oil. There was always a good chance he had something on him to use for fucking.

“You goddamn deviant,” Flint said, snatching it out of his hand and sucking on Silver’s lips.

They moved like clockwork, like a well-run crew on a steady, familiar ship. Flint opened the jar and coated his fingers as Silver stepped out of his trousers. Silver dropped his crutch and wrapped his left leg around Flint’s waist, and Flint’s hand was there to hold it up. Flint breached him with one finger, and Silver sucked on his bottom lip to swallow his moan. Silver widened his stance as well as he could manage, breath hitching as he worked himself back on one finger as Flint teased a second one at his entrance. It was a song they’d both played a million times but still got shivers at the high notes. It was waking up on a ship and knowing there was nothing out a porthole but the wide, endless expanse of blue on top of blue, but looking out anyway, and it still causing nothing but anticipation, and terror, and excitement, at the overwhelming possibility of it all. Silver never had anyone as long as he had Flint, and every day he felt awed by the wildness of familiarity.

“Fuck, Flint,” Silver gasped, rocking onto Flint’s hand. “Please, Captain -- now, now.”

Flint withdrew his fingers and SIlver hitched his other leg around his waist, leaning against the hard wood of the tree. Flint lined his cock up blindly, for he was watching Silver’s face as he slowly, slowly breached him.

Silver clutched at Flint’s shoulders, his back arching as he leveraged himself down. The stretch was perfect, the slide glorious. He took great, gasping breaths as he adjusted to the sudden girth, the sweet citrus tang in the air making him lightheaded.

Finally, Flint was all the way inside, hands under Silver’s ass to keep him up. It was dark beneath the canopy of the trees, but the light in Flint’s eyes was always enough to illuminate him. He looked at Silver, mouth agape, dazed, that same disbelief he wore whenever he got to fuck Silver.

That look always threatened to make Silver say something stupid, something embarrassing and risky, so he kissed Flint hard and ground down on his cock instead. Silver hated feeling like his words weren’t enough, but they never seemed to be when he wanted to be real with Flint. But he’d learned over years the permanence of actions. And he could only hope Flint understood that every kiss was another day Silver swore to be at his side. By this point, they’d be together through to the next millennium.

Flint groaned into his mouth and thrust once, making Silver jump along the tree bark, making Silver gasp.

“The wood, on your back…” He still looked dazed, but in a fucked out way. “We can -- move --”

“No,” Silver interrupted, twitching his hips, causing Flint to thrust on instinct. “Like this. I want this.”

And Flint could never stop himself from doing what Silver wanted, and he began to move, each thrust shall but heavy and overwhelming. “So, really,” he said, resting his forehead against Silver’s and looking down at where his cock was working itself inside him. “Fucking out here -- was your fucking fantasy.”

“Fantasies are just dreams, Captain. Oh!” Silver tangled his hands in Flint’s hair, trying to hang on. “I don’t -- shit -- I don’t need to dream anymore.”

Flint’s hips moved faster, erratic, and Silver bucked wildly up and down with him, uncaring of the scratches forming on his back. He licked his own palm shakily and reached down, stroking his cock, running his thumb over the wet head to slick his hand up more.

“Fuck,” Flint gasped, losing his rhythm as he watched Silver jerk off. “Silver, just look at you, fuck.”

Silver looked, at their bodies working together. Even when he’d had two legs, his body never worked half as good as when it moved with Flint’s.

He pulled on himself in uneven strokes, feeling Flint’s fingers dig into his ass with a desperation to touch Silver’s cock. Silver squeezed down hard on Flint’s cock, keeping himself tight around him as Flint’s hips pistoned forward in a frenzy.

Then, Flint stepped back an inch, pulling Silver with him so he was now slumped back slightly against the tree. He grabbed an overhead branch for balance as Flint deepened each push, the new angle hitting the spot inside so perfectly Silver saw stars, but not the kind he hated. The kind that led him right back to Flint every time.

“Christ, Silv --” Flint stretched his asscheeks wider, rolling his hips like tidal waves, each one crashing down. “You feel so fucking good, Silver, you’re so good for me, fuck.”

Silver moaned, stroking himself fast, feeling restless and close to undone. “Oh motherfuck, oh Christ, Flint, harder, please--”

Flint leaned over him to kiss him again, swallowing all of his pleas. He risked his grip on Silver’s ass to move a hand up his back, just cupping his spine gently, keeping his flushed, dirty skin away from the unforgiving bark. For some reason, that’s what did it for Silver, his climax catching him by such surprised he bit down on Flint’s lip, hard enough to draw blood. But Flint just groaned loudly, tilting his head to kiss him wider as thick ropes of come coated both their stomach and Silver’s hand.

“I’m sorry,” Silver pulled back to gasp, before kissing him soft, quick. He was still shaking from his own aftershocks, from Flint fucking him rough and sweet. “I’m sorry, fuck, oh -- Ja -- God, I -- “

Flint kissed him again, completely careless of his wounded mouth and adding another year to their millennia. His hips stuttered, jerking as he finally came deep inside Silver, his long whine caught between Silver’s tongue and teeth. Silver had so many different sensations battling for his attention -- the hot come dripping out his ass, the sweat and likely some blood trickling down his scratched back, Flint’s pants warm and soft over his cheek -- but more than anything, he felt strongest Flint’s heart racing, the beat of it in time with Silver’s own pounding away where they were pressed chest to chest.

Silver pulled away to try and breath, and ran his finger across Flint’s lips. “I’m sor--”

“Shut up,” Flint said, kissing him again quickly, and even though they hadn’t eaten any, Silver tasted oranges in his blood. “You know I love being able to feel you the next day.”

Silver had seen him a few times throughout a day, secretly pressing down in places with his fingertips, at hidden bite marks on his ribs or inside his thighs. He’d seen Flint sit down purposely harder than he needed to, in the hours after Silver had fucked him. He guessed Flint also needed reminders that Silver was there, even when he was there.

Flint’s lip had stopped bleeding by the time he got Silver standing again. He held onto the tree as Flint helped him step into his trousers and got him his crutch.

“We’ve christened this tree,” Silver said, patting the bark as Flint was pulling on his nightshirt. “This tree will produce your best oranges next harvest, you watch.”

“I have to remember not to give any of the schoolboys fruit from this tree,” Flint said, grimacing. “How’s your back?”

“Fantastic,” Silver said, facing Flint so he couldn’t look at it. “Though perhaps I spoke too soon about you keeping me young.”

Flint snorted, and held out his hand. Silver took it without hesitation. Flint’s hair was messy, his lips absurdly red, and his shirt lopsided, exposing all of his neck and part of one shoulder. This was what he meant before, about feeling young, because Silver was exhausted and his whole body ached, but he felt ready and open for Flint all the time, a yearning that never seemed to fade, or to feel satisfied.

Flint brought Silver’s hand up to his mouth and kissed his knuckles. “Fuck being young,” he said, the words drifting over Silver’s skin like leaving a dream. “I only ever made mistakes when I was young.”

Silver tugged him gently back down the aisle of trees towards home. “And now?”

Flint’s thumb rubbed the back of Silver’s hand. “Now I’m down to only one mistake a day. Two, at the most. What would you call that?”

Silver yearned, and unbidden, he remembered the first time he felt such a sensation, swirling up in an empty pit deep inside. He smiled, and said, “Progress.”

#black sails #black sails fanfic #silverflint #orange fic #hey look it's my suffering #this is like #the fifth time i've responded to a prompt and then realized when i was posting that i didn't fucking read the prompt properly #because i'm an idiot who can't read #this universe is so self-indulgent i swear to god #today i got snowed in and this just happened #Anonymous

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saeranlover · 8 years

Text

Here, I’ll post the whole oneshot on here too >//<

So be warned, there’s some sexual content-

Saeran had trouble sleeping. You knew that as much as Saeyoung did. The reasons why, however… Were known only to you. Saeyoung assumed that it was the drugs which Saeran had been given when he was the resident hacker of Mint Eye having a lasting effect, and that it would wear off soon.

You knew otherwise.

His slight suicidal tendencies and mood swings at times meant that for the foreseeable future, Saeran was having to take medication. The side-effects included things such as insomnia and random hot flushes which, for the redhead, typically occurred at night when he was trying to sleep.

Also… He was plagued with nightmares of people from the past.

Some days, it was Rika. Her smile and gentle words reminding him of the false truths he had been fed as ever since she had taken him to Mint Eye. On others, it was his mother. The way in which she’d starve, beat, and punish him. On occasion, it was Saeyoung at the centre of the nightmares. Being left alone by him, and seeing his arm bleeding out once they had reunited would be there. And then there was V… The gunshot and the blood is what would come to the front of his mind, alongside V’s words of forgiveness, saying that he didn’t blame him for pulling the trigger.

As Saeran’s first friend since he had been freed from the clutches of Mint Eye, you had promised him that you would always be there for him if he needed you, and that all he needed to do was knock on your door at any point. That was a benefit to working from home as the full-time party planner for the RFA. Jumin paid you to do it all from home.

You believed that it also helped with being Saeran’s friend when it came to the fact that you didn’t develop your relationship with Saeyoung any further than friendship too. Seeing lovey-dovey actions all around him would probably annoy him, and make his emotions even harder to control.

Today was one of the nights where Saeran just couldn’t sleep.

A loud hammering on the door to your home ended up waking you up, and when you checked the time, it was almost one in the morning. You made your way downstairs as the knocking continued, and you peered outside to see the familiar red hair, minty green eyes, and creamy coloured sweater belonging to Saeran.

Quickly, you unlocked the door, and the first thing which came to you was his slightly shaken breathing. “Y- You answered… C- Can you come with m- me somewhere? R- Right now?” His question was straight to the point, but you took a moment to look down at yourself. You were only wearing an over-sized shirt right now… Well, it probably would pass as a dress…

“Can I grab some shoes and a coat first, Saeran?”

“J- Just please… Be quick… I- I’ll be waiting in Saeyoung’s car… Th- The, um… s- silver one. It’s just parked down the road…” Saeran then quickly ran away from your door, leaving you stood there in slight confusion. You assumed that he may have had a nightmare, and was acting rather jittery because of it… But wouldn’t he have come in, rather than asking if you could go somewhere with him?

Once you had some shoes on, and had pulled your coat over your shoulders, you made sure that your phone was in your pocket just in case. After that, you locked up your home and began making your way down the street to the silver sports car which did stick out a bit like a sore thumb to you.

Saeran was sat in the driver’s seat, his sweater now off and bunched up on his lap. You noticed a thin sheen of sweat covering his body. That had to be the hot flush side-effect.

Once you had taken a deep breath, you made your way into the passenger seat beside Saeran, and then sighed once you’d made sure that the door was properly closed. “So… What is the matter at the moment? Can you not sleep tonight?”

“Um… K- Kinda…” He messed with his thumbs for a moment, and then sighed. “I… want to go to a- a place that Zen sh- showed me a few days ago… A- And I want to go there with you b- because I feel calm with you… C- Can you come with me?”

The two of you remained silent as Saeran then began to drive somewhere, but there was one thing which you were glad of. The only times that you left the house was to buy groceries, or to accompany Saeran somewhere. Because of that, you always had a few pieces of candy in your pocket. Whenever the two of you had to stop because of traffic lights, you would pass him some of the candy, and he would give you a silent smile and nod of thanks as it quickly made its way into his mouth.

Eventually, the two of you arrived as a quiet overlook up in the mountains which you had only seen in Zen’s photos up until that point. Seeing the glowing city far away in the distance in contrast to the night sky was quite a wonder… But you noticed how, as soon as Saeran had got out of the car, he had taken to looking up at the sky.

He then started whispering to himself, and when he noticed you looking at him, a soft look took over his face, with his lips slightly turned upwards and his eyes both calm and relaxed. “Saeyoung… He’s been trying to teach me about the constellations in the sky because… he knows that I like looking at them. I… Actually find them really interesting… He said that he’ll take me to the library tomorrow to get some books about them…” You smiled at that. His desire to learn more about everything now that he had the freedom to was quite nice. He seemed to like quite reading literature, or any sort of non-fiction book based on things which catch his interest.

He then started pointing out and naming a few constellations, until a few clouds began to cover the sky, and a few raindrops began to fall. With that, he pulled you back over to the car and pulled you into the back seats. When you offered him a confused look, he then took hold of your hand and sighed. His hand was now just a slight bit clammy, rather than sweaty. The cool air had been enough to bring his overall temperature down.

“I… I get that I probably shouldn’t have woke you up to just bring you here… but…” Saeran started talking again, and stopped when he noticed you shivering. He frowned, and then his arms were suddenly around you, and pulled you close to him. “But… I really like being with you when I can’t sleep… Is that bad?”

You shook your head. “It isn’t, Saeran… It’s not bad. I said that you could come to me whenever you wanted, remember?”

Saeran fell silent then, before he frowned. “No… I really like being with you.” A quick glance of confusion was given to him, before he huffed like a child and pushed you down into the seats and pressed his lips against yours. “I. Really. Like. You.”

Oh.

His hands were pressing into your hips, and his eyes were wide out of what appeared to be desperation. “The past few days… I’ve not been able to sleep. But instead of it being all of the bad people in my life keeping me awake, it’s been you.” His breathing now seemed a million times louder to you, and it sent your heard racing. “I- I didn’t know what was happening in my head… You were saying my name, o- over and over… A- And you were making sounds which made my b- body react in strange ways…” He then gulped, and kissed you once more. “Coming to you tonight… And doing this… It just feels right… C- Can I do this with you?”

“Okay, Saeran… I trust you, do what you wish…”

“Thank you…” He then kissed you for a third time, and slightly adjusted the position that the two of you were in so that he was nestled between your legs as he pressed you down into the car seats even more.

If this made a mess of the seats, Saeyoung was likely to eternally tease both of you…

Saeran then started running his hand through your hair as his tongue quickly began to press into your lips and found its way into your mouth. Your hair seemed to be like a lifeline to him, as his fingers were quick to tangle into it and tug at it slightly. Meanwhile, you could taste the sweetness of the candy which you had previously given to him on his lips.

Then you felt his spare hand move to the large shirt you were wearing, and it began to snake up your stomach and to your chest as your back arched slightly at the slight tingling feeling he had left behind from his touch. His fingers then began playing with the flesh, as though it were like a soft toy which you could play with to calm down. You laughed against his lips at the way in which his fingers would warily play at your nipples, as he would begin blushing madly.

Eventually, a quiet moan escaped from your lips as Saeran applied a slight bit more pressure between your hips, and he smirked. “You look pretty underneath me like this… Can we do this again at some point?”

As you nodded, Saeran tugged at your hair once more, and made you gasp loudly. When he did that though, his hand began to trail downwards again, and moved to the panties you were wearing. The sudden feeling of his hand against your clit with the material acting as a barrier and causing friction made you moan even louder than before, and his eyes widened. “These are the sounds you’ve been making when in my thoughts… Can you make more of them? I really like them, they make me feel… Calm…”

As you nodded, he was quick to literally just rip your panties off, and his hand loosened itself from your hair just to throw them aside. A bright blush took over your face then, and you honestly felt as though you understood what Saeran’s hot flushes felt like when he moved back as much as he could within the car, and dipped his head down so that he could stroke his tongue across your opening.

“A- Ah~ Saeran-!” You cried out his name almost as encouragement to get him to do more like that. So, he began alternating between sucking at your clit, and licking at you. He absolutely loved the sounds you made, and he needed to hear more.

When you ended up reaching your release as he kept his mouth working, you shivered as he lapped up everything. You covered your eyes in embarrassment when he then sat up, and wiped his face which had a slight trail of drool escaping his lips. “You taste… Better than candy. I’m definitely going to have to do this again…”

After that, Saeran leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, making sure that you could taste yourself as his hands worked at loosening his pants. You were too focussed upon the taste entering your mouth as Saeran was able to free himself, and press himself up against you. You only realised when he was able to push himself into you, the sensitivity from your previous orgasm making you gasp and press your body against him with your eyes wide.

Saeran’s look on his face softened when he moved his hips, and heard you gasp quietly. He then began to pick up a pace with thrusting into you, and eventually, the two of you were a tangles mess of cries, whimpers, bodies, and sweat. Saeran was going to definitely definitely definitely do this again with you.

Soon enough, the two of you ended up reaching your orgasm together, and Saeran gave you a sweet smile when he finally ended up pulling out of you and sorted his clothes out.

But you were now asleep, and he had a feeling that he was now going to be able to sleep tonight too… First though, he needed to get you home…

“Actually… I’ll take her back home with me…”

Come the morning, you sat up and rubbed your eyes just to realise that your surroundings weren’t your usual ones. You knew exactly where you were though… You were in Saeran’s bed.

Next to Saeran.

Who was still fast asleep.

A few moments later you realised that your phone was on a bedside table, and kept going off with notifications. There was a chatroom open…

Saeyoung: I AM SO NOT IN A GOOD MOOD

Yoosung: What’s going on?

Saeyoung: I’M GOING TO HAVE TO PAY SO MUCH TO HAVE THAT SORTED OUT NOW

Yoosung: Um… Saeyoung?

MC: Saeyoung, what’s the matter?

Saeyoung: MY BABY

Saeyoung: SOMETHING HAS HAPPENED TO ONE OF MY BABIES.

From beside you, you noticed Saeran stir, and his hand reached out from under the covers to grab his phone, before his head went under the covers too.

Yoosung: Something happened to one of your cars?

Saeyoung: WHAT THE HELL DID I JUST FIND

Saeran has entered the chatroom

Saeran: Shut up. I can hear you from my room.

Saeyoung: YOU… SAERAN!!! EXPLAIN YOURSELF!!!!

MC: Um…

Saeran: Explain what exactly?

Saeyoung: WHY IS THERE SOME SORT OF STAIN ON THE BACK SEAT OF ONE OF MY BABIES

Saeyoung: AND WHY. IS. THERE. SOME. WOMEN’S. UNDERWEAR. IN. THERE.

Saeran: … What makes you think that was me?

You sighed, and hit the lump which you knew was Saeran under the covers.

Saeyoung: YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN GET TO MY BABIES

Saeran: Fine. MC’s hitting me so I might as well confess.

Yoosung: Wait… MC is with you?

Saeran: I fucked MC in your car last night.

Saeran: And brought her back here.

Saeran: Enjoy your gift of ruined panties in your car.

MC: >//<

Saeyoung: SAERAN CHOI I AM GOING TO GET YOU BOTH RIGHT NOW

Saeran: MC, I’m going to get out of bed now. Please don’t hit me again. I confessed, didn’t I?

MC: I'm so sorry for this, Yoosung >o<

#mari's mysme writings #mystic messenger #mysme

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nekomegami-chan-blog · 8 years

Text

Paradise by the Dashboard Light

Summary: The stress of the road starts to get to Hakkai. Gojyo helps him cope in the only way he knows how.

A/N: This didn’t start out to be a hurt/comfort thing, but it turned out that way. Unbetaed. I haven’t written smut in forever, so this was mostly an exercise in insomnia - because writing porn at 3 am is never a good idea.

Warning: Extraordinarily NSFW

Paradise by the Dashboard Light

Hakkai looked up from where he sat on the floor, mending a tear in Sanzo’s robe. Sanzo himself was cross legged on the room’s only bed, reading a newspaper with a level of focus that the local farm report should not have warranted. Goku was sprawled out on a futon in the corner, his belly exposed, snoring softly.

“What’s taking that idiot so long?” Sanzo grumbled quietly, so as not to wake Goku.

“Surely you don’t think I have a psychic connection with Gojyo that would allow me to deduce exactly why he hasn’t yet made it back with your cigarettes?” Hakkai replied mildly. He tied off his last stitch and began to pack away his sewing things.

Sanzo arched an eyebrow at Hakkai before ducking back behind his paper. “Tch. What crawled up your ass tonight?”

“Ahaha, I suppose I’m rather tired from all the complaining today. Oh, and the cooking, cleaning, and sewing. Not to mention the driving! Still, I suppose it is getting late and you won’t be able to go to sleep until you’ve had one last cigarette. Why don't you keep an eye on Goku while I go out and look for our wayward companion.” Without waiting for a reply, Hakkai stalked gracefully out the door, headed for the inn’s common room and the street beyond.

Even asleep, Goku’s face scrunched up and he rolled onto his side as Hakkai passed, the disturbance in Hakkai’s familiar ki enough to interrupt dreams for a moment. Sanzo felt the hair on his arms raise and made sure his gun was in reach once the door had closed again. Hakkai could be a scary fucker when he was...frustrated.

XXXX

Hakkai’s search was brief, as he’d expected. He found Gojyo smoking in front of the inn, leaning back against the wall of the building, a plastic shopping bag at his feet.

Gojyo smiled when Hakkai approached him, his eyes almost black beneath heavy lashes as he rolled away from the building. “About time,” he drawled, and dropped stubbed out filter of his cigarette. “I was starting to worry you’d never get away.”

Hakkai smiled in return, but the expression had a hard edge to it. “Yes, well - while I appreciate your patience, I actually did have to finish repairing Sanzo’s clothing.”

“Let’s not talk about Sanzo,” Gojyo said, and slung one arm over Hakkai’s shoulders to usher him into the alley behind the inn where Jeep was parked. “C’mon, let’s take a little drive.”

They hadn’t put in more than five hours on the road that morning before unexpectedly coming to this rather sizeable town. It turned out it had been forty miles further southeast than the map had shown, and everyone was glad for the opportunity to stock up and enjoy sleeping indoors after several nights camped out in the car.

Hakkai pulled out of the alleyway and started slowly through the sleeping village, doing his best to keep the engine noise at a minimum. Gojyo shifted in the passenger seat, reaching to touch Hakkai’s leg with long, feather-light strokes that trailed from knee to hip and back again.

Leaning over to rest his chin on Hakkai’s shoulder, Gojyo murmured, “Lemme take care of you tonight.” Then he was unbuttoning the fly of Hakkai’s khakis. Unlike Gojyo, Hakkai was wearing underwear; soft, fitted heather-gray cotton that clung to his upper thighs and tented with the first stirrings of Hakkai’s arousal. Hakkai nearly crashed them into a light pole when Gojyo palmed him, pressing the heel of his hand into the bulge with just the right amount of pressure.

“Perhaps we ought to wait until we get to the outskirts of town,” Hakkai said, his tone light and conversational, the thought expressed like any other polite suggestion.

“It’s more fun this way. A little bit of danger gets the blood pumping,” Gojyo said, nuzzling Hakkai’s neck as his hand continued to work Hakkai though his shorts. Fingers traced the head and Hakkai shuddered, his grip on the steering wheel turning white knuckled.

Gojyo decided to have a little fun. He pressed into Hakkai’s neck, licking and sucking at the soft skin - careful not to leave a mark, while he continued to knead at the apex of Hakkai’s thighs. “I’m going to make you come so hard you see stars,” Gojyo promised, his voice low and sultry and just as teasing as his hands and lips.

Hakkai made a little sound in the back of his throat and his hips bucked up into Gojyo’s hand. Gojyo chuckled and tugged at the waistband of Hakkai’s underwear until he lifted his hips again, pressing the clutch as he did. Hakkai shifted gears, and they picked up speed as his erection met the cool night air. Gojyo spit into his palm and grasped his best friend, setting a slow, gentle rhythm that quickly left Hakkai shaking and desperate for a secluded place to park.

They drove up a hill, Jeep’s tires leaving deep tracks in the dirt and sending loose sand sliding back down the slope. When they’d reached the top, it was all Hakkai could do to grasp Gojyo’s wrist. “Wait,” he breathed. Gojyo obediently let go.

Hakkai turned off the engine and produced a blanket from under the seat. Before he could spread it out, Gojyo stopped him. “It’s cold down there. Let’s just do it in the back seat. It’ll be cramped, but we’ll make it work.”

“That’s not really fair to Jeep,” Hakkai frowned.

“It’s really no different than us doin’ it next to his tires,” Gojyo insisted.

“I suppose you’re right. And I’d rather not create extra laundry for myself,” Hakkai said thoughtfully, staring at the ground as if it might be plotting to stain something right that moment.

Gojyo climbed into the bench in the back seat, then tugged at Hakkai until he followed and settled himself astride the other man’s lap. The touch of Gojyo’s lips against his were gentle, though chapped from wind and sun. Hakkai threaded his fingers through Gojyo’s hair and breathed him, trailing kisses down his neck, the scents of cigarette smoke and road dust and the subtle, spicy cologne Gojyo favored were soothing and intoxicating at the same time. Hakkai typically prided himself on his control, but after the earlier teasing he found it exceptionally erotic to be kissing Gojyo in the back seat of the car. He gave a few soft thrusts against Gojyo’s belly. Gojyo rolled up into the contact in encouragement.

Breaking away, Hakkai sat up to stare down at Gojyo’s upturned face and swept his friend’s hair back. “The moonlight suits you,” he murmured and dipped his head once again to place feather-light kisses over the shadow of stubble on Gojyo’s jaw.

Gojyo made a breathy noise that may have been a chuckle, his hands sliding up and down Hakkai’s sides, fingers ghosting over his ribs like a piano player tickling the keys. It set Hakkai’s nerves alight and all at once he was acutely aware of how very much he wanted Gojyo. But before he could shuck their clothing, common sense caution took over - it wouldn’t do to be caught with their pants down (literally), out in the open like this if any youkai were to attack, or if Sanzo got fed up with waiting and actually came looking for them. Instead Hakkai settled for popping open the button and sliding down the zippered fly of Gojyo’s pants with one hand, while the other slipped underneath his partner’s shirt.

Gojyo let Hakkai dominate him. It felt good to let someone else take the lead but he needed to touch, and so when Hakkai went to work on Gojyo’s pants, it was all the prompting he needed return to his earlier ministrations.

“Feel good?” Gojyo whispered.

Hakkai didn’t reply in words, but his fingers found Gojyo’s left nipple and gave it a twisting pinch that had him hissing and arching upwards. They continued to kiss and fondle each other until Gojyo’s erection was straining uncomfortably against his stomach, trapped between them as Hakkai rocked, seeking more pressure from Gojyo’s hand on his own hardness.

Gojyo firmly fisted Hakkai’s cock, running his thumb over the wetness at the tip and spreading it down the shaft. “Do you want me just to jack us off together, or can I suck you first?”

The thought of Gojyo’s mouth on him was enough to have Hakkai nearly rutting into the hand around his length. “C’mon Hakkai. You’ve been so tense lately. Let me do this for you. But you gotta say it - I need to hear you tell me you want me to suck your dick.” Gojyo’s voice was sultry; almost a growl and just right - so that Hakkai could feel it in his shriveled, black little heart.

Whether it was a result of Gojyo’s dirty talk, the hand still stroking him, or the nearly overwhelming tenderness he felt for the other man was up for debate. In the end, Hakkai found it didn’t really matter. All that mattered was giving Gojyo what he’d asked for. “I want you to suck my dick,” he whispered, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Thank you,” Gojyo breathed against Hakkai’s throat, and guided Hakkai’s body, maneuvering him as Gojyo shifted to lay back across the width of the bench, his head resting where Goku’s elbow did all day. Then Hakkai was gripping the edge of the car and biting back a moan as Gojyo grasped the base of his cock, his tongue swiping over the tip before Gojyo’s mouth closed over his cock.

Gojyo was masterful at sex, Hakkai reflected between waves of pleasure. He was never mechanical, never following the same pattern, but rather reacting to his partner, adjusting speed, pressure and technique as he went, adapting to the rhythm of their passion. Hakkai almost pitied the girls Gojyo slept with, knowing that they had had a taste of this and then lost it, but the greater part of him felt smug and possessive, like the way Jeep did when he’d caught a mouse. This was his, for as long as it lasted, and he was disinclined to share.

Gojyo’s other hand came up to roll his balls and Hakkai trembled with the effort of not bucking forward. Gojyo gave him a little squeeze before moving on to cup his ass even as he let Hakkai’s penis drop from his lips. He gave Hakkai’s butt a sharp slap, then kneaded the tight muscle in a sort of apology. “It’s okay. You don’t have to hold back all the time.” Gojyo’s nose nudged at Hakkai’s hip where it hovered over him. “Give me what you’ve got.”

Hakkai gasped when Gojyo swallowed him again. It was too good, and he found himself thrusting over Gojyo’s broad tongue, trying not to choke the wonderful man beneath him. He knew Gojyo’s jaw must be getting tired, but his body was racing towards orgasm, fueled by the slide and pull of Gojyo’s expert mouth. He wanted it to last forever. Gojyo’s hand was back between his legs, and this time the pads of his fingers found the sensitive place behind his balls, and one little touch was all it took to have Hakkai shuddering and biting down on his lip.

Gojyo felt Hakkai’s cock pulse and stopped moving, simply letting Hakkai fuck his mouth as he climaxed. He swallowed, careful not to gag - Hakkai needed this, and it would only make him feel bad if he heard Gojyo coughing as he came. Still reeling from the aftershocks of his orgasm, Hakkai sat back on Gojyo’s legs and slumped to rest against the redhead’s chest, his breathing harsh and loud in his own ears.

Sweat made long red hair stick to Gojyo’s face and neck, and his lips were swollen and shiny as he licked them. “Better?” Gojyo asked, smiling contentedly.

Hakkai moved in to kiss him again in response. They lay like that for a few moments, embracing one another and sharing languid kisses until Hakkai could speak again. “What about you?”

“I’d like to tell you to lube up, but I think Sanzo-sama is going to have a canary as it is. So why don’t we just head back and you can give me a hand job on the way?”

“That hardly seems fair after what you just did for me.”

“It’s cool. You can just owe me one,” Gojyo winked. He stroked Hakkai’s hip once more and gently tucked him back into his pants. They shimmied into the front seats, and Hakkai started the engine and put Jeep into gear.

A large hand closed over his own on Jeep’s stick, and then Hakkai was grasping his friend’s shaft instead. “That’s it, mmn yeah,” purred Gojyo. He was guiding Hakkai’s hand up and down his length, the redhead’s big, calloused palm warming Hakkai’s knuckles. “I can’t wait until we have separate rooms again. It’s been so long since I had a chance to do you properly. I bet you’d like to fuck me, too, right?” Gojyo punctuated the last as he mouthed a kiss over Hakkai’s neck.

“Gojyo…”

“You know, when I went to take a leak in the bushes this morning, I fingered myself a little, thinking of you? I imagined you shoving into me from behind while you had me pinned. We both know my ground holds are killer, but I'm pretty sure you could take me, even if I resisted. Wouldn't that be fun?”

Hakkai made a noise in the back of his throat at the mental image of Gojyo up against the boll of a tree while Hakkai watched himself driving into his best friend's body. He abruptly hit the brakes and threw Jeep into park with a lurch.

“Gojyo, I can’t wait. Please….” Even though he’d only just come, Hakkai could feel himself hardening again. He was almost desperate to bury himself in Gojyo’s heat once more and the intensity of his desire was frightening. He pumped Gojyo’s shaft in earnest, twisting where he sat and leaning into his friend’s chest.

Dimly he became aware of Gojyo’s hands on his shoulders, pushing him gently away, and then Gojyo was kissing his eyelids, which he hadn’t realized he’d shut against the crashing waves of need and pleasure. “Hey. Hey, you’re shaking. You're alright. I didn’t mean to get you so revved up. Look at me.”

Hakkai blinked his eyes open and shuddered. “I’m sorry! Did I hurt you?” He managed. “I just, that is - I want you so much I can’t think.”

Gojyo kissed him again, slowly. “I’m alright. I just didn’t realize you were so tired. If I had, I wouldn’t have worked you up like that,” he whispered. “Do you need to stop?”

“N-no.”

“Tell me what you need.”

“I need,” Hakkai swallowed past the lump in his throat, “I need to fuck you. Right now.”

“You got it.” Gojyo grinned. “Think we can make it to the back of the car again? Or do you want to find that tree?”

“Gojyo,” the name was a plea.

Gojyo sobered again. “Yeah.”

And then suddenly they were sprawled together on the Jeep’s bench, Gojyo on his knees with his chin pillowed on his arms and his pants around his ankles. Hakkai had pulled the lube from Gojyo’s back pocket and was working two generously slick fingers into him. It was a little fast, but Gojyo willed himself to relax and it wasn’t long before he was loose enough for Hakkai to add a third finger. Gojyo could hear Hakkai’s harsh breathing as he worked him open, scissoring and curling, stretching him even as Hakkai searched for the little bundle of nerves that would have Gojyo’s toes curling. When he found it, Gojyo groaned and pushed back onto Hakkai’s fingers. “That’s it. So good, man. I’m ready.”

“You’re still tight,” Hakkai panted. “I don’t want to…”

“I can take it. I want it,” his cock jumped as he spoke, hitting him in the stomach and dripping pre-cum. He’d been hard a long time and it was almost painful now.

Hakkai didn’t need any more reassurance. Grasping the base of his erection, Hakkai pushed the head against Gojyo’s entrance. He tried to go slow, rocking into Gojyo’s body centimeters at a time. When he was fully seated, Hakkai lay across Gojyo’s back, fighting for control.

“What did I tell you?” the hanyo growled, smacking Hakkai on the thigh to get his attention. “I can take it. Now give it to me!”

Hakkai’s hands dug into Gojyo’s hips and he started to thrust. From the beginning his rhythm was strong and fast and Gojyo felt his chest tighten with emotion at the thought that this might be was love was - giving the person you cared about what they needed, and taking what they had to give you in return. “Fuck, Hakkai. Yes! That’s it. So good,” it was all nonsense, exclamations of pleasure that meant nothing and everything at once. Gojyo’s balls were full and aching, and he knew he wouldn’t last. He arched his back and abruptly Hakkai’s cock found what his fingers had, and after a couple of good shoves against his prostate, Gojyo was coming with a shout, his dick jerking as he spurted over the bench seat.

Hakkai picked up speed, ramming into Gojyo as the man under him climaxed, feeling the redhead’s tight passage clamp down on him. His hips stuttered and he finished for the second time that night. His thighs and belly trembled as the last remnants of the stress that had clung to him for so long bled away, leaving him exhausted and refreshed at the same time. Gradually he became aware of Gojyo shifting under him with a grunt, his heartbeat loud in Hakkai’s ear where it rested on his back.

Gently, Hakkai pulled out. He felt light headed, but his fingers traced the play of shadows across Gojyo’s shoulders. He pressed a kiss to the nape of Gojyo’s neck and sagged against him, utterly spent.

After awhile Gojyo sat back, supporting Hakkai as he did. “You still with me?” He asked quietly. Hakkai could only nod. Gojyo redressed him and arranged him in the passenger seat before pulling his own clothes back on, and using the blanket to wipe up the mess. He patted Jeep apologetically and promised to share his breakfast with the dragon in the morning. The redhead slipped behind the wheel and lit a cigarette, took a drag, and offered it to Hakkai. To his surprise, Hakkai took it and started to smoke. Gojyo lit a second one for himself and then they were headed back to the hotel, tendrils of white smoke trailing them as the moon reached it’s zenith.

#585 #sha gojyo #cho hakkai #smut #i_wrote_a_thing #Saiyuki #I hate the ending

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